M, My Name is Mello
by Brat-Child3
Summary: Mello never made it a secret that he hated Near; so why did Near brand him with the nickname "Dear Mello?" MelloxNear, hints of LxLight. --New Title-
1. Addictions

**Author's Note: **My second attempt at writing Death Note. This was supposed to be a one-shot, but it was becoming too long for that, so i've decided to break it down into a few chapters. This is my take on how Near and Mello's relationship became so screwed up. This first chapter is an intro; the rest will take place when they're older, during the Kira investigation. Rated M for later scenes. XD I hope you enjoy.

I'd like to dedicate this to the person who is the Near to my Mello; you're truly inspiring.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Death Note or any of the associated characters.

* * *

**M, My Name is Mello**

**Intro--Addictions:**

It was raining the day L brought Near to live at Wammy's House. Mello was seven and--being an active individual--horrendously bored having to stay indoors.

He was draped backward over the arm of a lounge chair in Roger's office, arms thrown out, hair and fingertips dusting the emerald carpet, decidedly spending his remaining ten minutes of "time-out" putting no effort at all into anything productive. There were brain-training puzzles arranged in one corner that would perhaps be entertaining, maybe; if it wasn't so unfair that he was being punished simply because no one else saw the brilliance of replacing the chocolate milk mix with garden soil. It wasn't _his _fault he was the only person who had a sense of humor.

Roger's office was the most boring room in the entire mansion, and Mello rather disliked spending lengthy chunks of time confined within the chestnut-paneled walls. He didn't, however, hate it so much that it would stop him from putting a frog in the punch bowl during the Halloween party scheduled next weekend.

He smirked at the thought of the girls shrieking and darting for safety, and a chuckle worked its way past his lips. The sound was small, but amplified in the too quiet room; the only other sound being the low hum of a tropical fish tank on the far left.

Roger glanced up from his desk, studying him with slanted gray eyes, ever suspicious of the fun-loving blonde.

"Mello," he said at length, a sigh bordering the words, "what are you up to?"

The door banged open, and Mello bolted upright, swiping a fan of golden hair away from his eyes. "L!"

"Ah, there you are," L said, watching the child launch himself from the chair and cling to his side.

"L, we weren't expecting you," Roger said, moving to stand from his chair, but L waved him back down.

"It's quite alright," he said. "I wasn't expecting me either."

"Is that another child?" Roger asked, adjusting the frames perched on his nose to better see the blanket-wrapped bundle in L's arms.

"Yes. Watari and I will be in momentarily to discuss him with you," L said, spider-like fingers curling around one of Mello's wrists. "Mello, come this way."

He hauled the child into the corridor, pulling him along as quickly as Mello's small legs would allow. He fumbled to catch up with the rhythm of the pace, then fell into an easy sprint at L's side.

"Where are we going?" he asked, glancing upward toward the small bundle. All he could make out was one sock-clad foot sticking out of the bottom of a fleece blanket.

"Just to my room for a moment. I don't have a lot of time," L said, rounding a corner and tugging him down a hallway with a single oak door at the end.

Mello stumbled a bit, and L's hold tightened to prevent a fall.

"Watch your step," he said, but Mello wasn't listening; he was too preoccupied with the glorified thought of L's _room_.

He had only been inside twice, and once he was too young to remember. The first had been when L had brought _him _to Wammy's House, and the second when L finally left for a new case and Mello realized he wasn't allowed to go with. L had granted him permission to sleep there the first night he was gone, if it made him feel any better, but warned to not make a habit of it.

Though his time in L's room had been limited and few, he still felt a shard of jealousy claw at his stomach. Who _was _this kid to L that he was being treated with the same attention L had always reserved for him?

Mello was special to L; he wasn't like any of the other orphans at Wammy's House, brought there through referrals from other orphanages. Mello had been personally saved and recruited to Wammy's by L, cared for and hand-delivered. Up until that point, he had been the _only _one. Now this?

Mello seethed, but was brought about when L released his wrist to open the door and gently nudged him inside.

"Mello, please get the door," he said, crossing the room toward his bed.

He obliged, closing them into the room, then turning back just in time to see L deposit the bundle onto the edge of his bed and peel the rain-soaked blanket off.

Mello blinked and then stared at the creature, who stared back with Wicca-black eyes, clutching a small--albeit large in his arms--toy robot. He was tiny, five-years-old back then, though no larger than three, and everything about him WHITE. White hair, white skin, white pajamas, white socks. Pretty like Christmas and snowflakes.

…But the _eyes_, inhumanly large and cryptic; twin black magic crystals shot through with sparks of cosmo-deep wisdom.

Mello felt his heart freeze over, paralyzed by some unseen force, silent and almost supernatural. A chill shimmied up his spine, then imploded as fire-tipped nails clawed back downward.

L set the blanket aside and turned to Mello, crouching into his favored position to level up their eyes.

"I need you to do something for me," he said, clutching the boys' shoulders.

Mello didn't answer, continuing to stare beyond him into the bewitching black eyes; unable to break away from the pull of the gaze even for the detective.

_Dangerously magnetic._

"Mello." L clipped his chin between two fingers, turning the boys' face toward his.

Mello swallowed hard, his voice a ghost of a whisper when he spoke. "What...is _that_?"

L smirked. "_That _is Nate River, but you should call him Near. And please don't mention his true name to anyone; It's a secret, just like yours. Do you understand?"

Mello peered back over the detective's shoulder, wide-eyes unblinking, and gave a nod.

L turned Mello's head back into position. "Near will be living here with you now. Watari is instructing one of the maids to set up the empty room opposite of yours. He will be allowed to stay in my room for tonight, and I would like you to stay with him."

"Me?" Mello asked, eyelids finally beginning to flutter again and blink moisture into place.

"Yes, Mello. You." L slid his arms down Mello's shoulders and took hold of his hands, penetrating his soul with his own dark, owlish eyes. "Listen to me: this is a very important mission that I'm giving you." He glanced over his shoulder at Near, studying him a moment, then turned back. "He's very clever, just like you, but I need you to look after him for me while I'm gone. Don't let the other children push him around just because he functions a little differently."

"He's weird," Mello said, leaning closer so only L could hear.

"It's not for us to judge those who we don't understand," L chided, then gave a tentative smile and squeezed Mello's hands. "But I'm certain that you _will _understand him. You're different than the other children here, don't you think? You have a gift, and I want you to stick together."

Mello smiled. He always smiled when L was home, but especially when L was home _and _praising him; when he was proud of him and smiling at him and his breath was warm and sweet against his skin.

"Okay, L. I'll protect him. I promise."

L pushed himself back up, dragging Mello across the room toward the bed. He grasp Near's free hand and pressed it into Mello's, holding them together as he looked between them.

"Stick together," he said, gently palming their tangled fingers. "And above all else, _trust _each other."

He seemed satisfied with their nods and dropped his hold to reach into his pocket. "I don't have long, but I've brought you a treat, Mello. Please share it with Near."

Mello's eyes gleamed as L pulled out and dangled a shiny wrapped chocolate bar between two fingers.

"Chocolate!" Mello shrieked, bouncing on his toes as L pressed it into his hand.

"I brought this one all the way from America. I thought you'd enjoy that." He ruffled Mello's hair, muddling it more than it already was to begin with.

"Now," he said, giving the boys' hands one last squeeze together. "Please behave. No putting small animals into refreshments or anything else that may drive Roger into an early grave."

Mello's face crumpled into a pout, his lips puckering. How did L _always _know everything, even before it happened? It was equally as amazing as it was frustrating, in Mello's opinion. He never _had _been able to prank the detective.

L tried to stand, but Near's hand shot out and latch onto his shirt, overbalancing his robot and sending it head first onto the floor. L hesitated, glancing first at the hand fisted against his stomach and then at Near. Mello started when his eyes followed L's, surprised at the sight of Near's cheeks sprinkled with glittering drops of misery.

"I'm sorry I have to leave so quickly, but I'm needed back in America at once," L said, leaning in to swab the tears away with his sleeve. "I won't be away for too long. Don't you worry."

Near sniffled, rubbing the back of his sleeve against his nose, then convulsed as a sob ripped through his chest. L continued to mop at the rivers of saline, his tone dropping another decibel as he leaned in closer.

"You're going to be fine; you'll be just fine. We talked about this." He reached over for the robot, patting the carpet a few times before grasping its foot and pulling it up to set on the side table. He turned it by the head to face Near. "You've got your robot," he said, dusting a tear from his chin. "Do you still have the cross?"

Near tugged at the beaded cord looped around his neck, lifting a rosary out of his pajama top and into view. It gleamed in the grayish light from the window, modestly plain and silver. It wasn't abnormally large, but it seemed too bulky for his small frame; certainly not made for a child. He dropped it again at L's nod, and it disappeared beneath the folds of white and satin with a dull glint.

"Good," L whispered, never breaking his gaze. "And you've got Mello now as well. You'll never be alone again."

Mello floundered a moment, feeling a sudden urge to confirm L's promise, but unsure what to do. He looked around helplessly, then settled on twisting his palm and adjusting his fingers to lace with Near's, then gave a protective, reassuring squeeze. Near glanced down at their hands, then up at Mello, blinking out twin tears.

Mello looked back at L, catching a note of thankfulness swimming along his black-lake eyes as he began to back away again. He paused in the doorway, taking them in for a long moment, pride evident even under his dead-pan expression, and finally slipped away.

Near's hand was trembling, Mello noticed, and followed the length of it up to his face. His eyes were squeezed closed, tears streaming from beneath his lashes as he rasped for air, jerking slightly with each sharp inhale. Mello felt a slow panic spread from the pit of his stomach upward, seizing his own breath as the instinct to cry out for L to come back coiled around his vocal cords.

As he opened his mouth to do just that, he felt the tremors begin to fade, like water after a pebble had been tossed in and finally hit the bottom, slowly coming to a still calmness. Near dipped his head as his breathing became steady, sucking in a few deep pulls of oxygen before reopening the onyx marbles to look back up at Mello again.

The wetness was still there, stained with puffiness around his eyes and down his cheeks, but no new tears were forming. Instead, a blankness had replaced them, washing out his expression as a whole. It looked as if he weren't even _capable _of the bawling he had been doing seconds ago.

Mello blinked, confused about everything that had just transpired. It was probably the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him.

But no matter; the kid had stopped crying and he was in possession of his first ever chocolate bar. He failed to see any cause for complaint.

"Come on," he said, prying his hand loose to climb onto the bed and prowl across the cerulean bedspread. He tugged the corner down, slipping under the covers and held it open for the other boy.

Near grabbed his robot, then crawled toward Mello and wormed his way into the space between his side and the blanket.

"I've never had plain chocolate before," Mello said, tearing a finger down the wrapper. "Only chocolate flavored cake and milk and ice cream. Have you?"

Near gave a nod, but said nothing; Mello snapped off a piece of the bar and handed it to him, then shoved a second into his own mouth.

The sensation creamed over his tongue, melting in a delicious blend of sharp chocolate and sugar. His eyes fluttered closed as he sucked it back, savoring the delightful taste, and snuggled closer against the warmth of Near's body.

For Mello, it was the moment _two _addictions were born.

* * *

**-BratChild3**


	2. Dear Mello

**Authors Note: **Thanks to those who reviewed the intro!

* * *

**Chapter 2-Dear Mello**

Mello had _never _been a light sleeper. Once he was out for the night, there wasn't any hope of breaking his slumbering trance; be it nudging, shaking, shouting, or even the mortifying incident years ago in which a curious six-year-old Near decided to plunge Mello's hand into a bowl of warm water simply to test the theory of wetting oneself.

That was why Roger had set a special bedtime for Mello, half an hour earlier than all the other orphans at Wammy's House. There were too many nights he had fallen asleep watching TV or playing a game in the common room, and Roger was getting tired of asking Matt to help him drag Mello's flaccid body up two flights of stairs and into his room before Near could tamper with his unconscious body.

At first, Mello had been angered to tears by the newly established rule because it was all Near's fault for having an unnatural fixation with his sleeping form anyway, and especially because Near didn't even have a bedtime curfew _at all_. The little insomniac brat had wrapped his cold, bloodless fingers around Roger's heart, and now he couldn't bear the thought of forcing his precious _Nate _into bed when the little monster couldn't even sleep. The worst part about the whole thing was the way L had come home and—upon listening to Mello rant and cry for a half an hour about equal rights—had morphed into a treacherous, backstabbing demon-spawn and agreed that Roger's rules were for the best and to be followed without argument.

Mello didn't speak to L for an entire month.

Which, if he really cared to think about it, wasn't all that rebellious of a strike since L had gone away for a period of eleven weeks and didn't even realize Mello had stopped speaking to him and started up again during his absence. But it was too hard to stay mad at the genius detective when he had given Mello the tip-off that going to bed earlier than the other children had its advantages. Mello didn't believe it at first, but it was only a matter of time before he stumbled upon a few interesting facts.

First, his focus and concentration sharpened up several notches, and although he was still falling second to Near in, well… most _everything_; it was also true that in several incidences they had fallen parallel. If he couldn't surpass Near, it was satisfying enough that he was at least on the same level.

Secondly, going to bed early had reset Mello's internal clock, and he found himself awake and ready to start his day an hour before anyone else had woken up. This included Roger. For a small span of time, Mello had the entire orphanage to himself. He found the peace of this freedom beneficial to his cut-bone emotions, and flare-ups were less common for him during the day. As long as Near wasn't anywhere in sight, of course.

Lastly, (the best of them all) Near actually _did _sleep. Mello had discovered this a few weeks after he began wandering the empty corridors in the grayish light of dawn, and upon realizing that Near wasn't lurking about anywhere like he excepted, backtracked to his room and found him hammocked comfortably amid his blankets in the throes of actual sleep. It seemed he really _was _human. Mello took great delight in the fact that even the extraordinary Nate River surrendered to mortal needs.

He took even greater delight in sweetly-dipped revenge; exchanging Near's shampoo with honey, hiding all of his Transformers in varying places of the orphanage, mixing the tiny pieces of three different jigsaws together.

However, these games quickly lost their novelty when Mello realized that Near was never going to retaliate, never going to tattle to Roger about it, and simply accepted each violation as if it were a game—_a challenge_—and each morning sorted through whatever mess Mello had made for him with all the patience of Mother Teresa.

It infuriated Mello beyond rational thought. At times, his frustration with Near had him so disconcerting that he'd put himself to bed earlier than the allotted time, finding consolation in the knowledge that nothing could shake him from the peaceful darkness he fell into. L had been right—it truly _was _a gift.

So it was strange, even to Mello himself, when he was awoken that night by _warmth_. It wasn't the agonizing sort that came with humid summer nights, or the alarming heat of a house fire. It was a thick warmth, a comforting warmth; so deliciously satisfying it made his toes curl into the blankets. He moaned at the enveloping sensation and snuggled closer to the source, letting out a deep sigh as he prepared to fall back into the cottony realm of unconscious bliss.

He was only just beginning to feel sleep consume him again when the scent of ivory soap curled darkly over his senses. His eyes snapped open as the warmth nuzzled against his chest, soft and tangible through his pajama top. Several of Mello's major organs seemed to grind to a halt as the reality of the situation crystallized and then exploded with an introverted rush.

The warmth wasn't just some invisible, uncontainable sensation brought on by the extra blanket he pulled from one of the linen closets, or because Roger had turned the heat up a notch. This was the warmth of a body—of a _person_—solid and alive and _breathing _against his throat. And there was only one person in Wammy's House who insisted on using the same kind of bland soap as their mentor, L.

_Near_.

Molten lava pooled in Mello's stomach as his heart lurched from zero to sudden-death overdrive. Did something happen to L? His lungs turned to ash, oxygen-starved bubbles of white snapping across his vision.

L was the only thing anchoring him and Near together. They weren't friends, they didn't exchange pleasantries, and they sure as hell never got close enough to touch. Now Mello's chest was being rhythmically branded by Near's moist breath, and one small knee was wedged with embarrassing intimacy between his. It didn't take a genius to realize that something was terribly wrong with this situation. L was the only thing—human or otherwise—who could illicit any emotions in Near at all. So the small hand gripping the front of Mello's shirt with pleading dependency was as alarming as being woken up by the wailing sound of an emergency siren.

Mello's heart drummed manically in the silence; for a moment, the only other sound accompanying the soft rhythm of Near's breathing. Then slowly, steadily, the more logical part of his brain began to reboot, and a breath of stale air seeped with relief from his lungs.

Of course nothing had happened to L. Despite Mello and Near's stark differences, and despite Near outdoing Mello more times than not, L didn't make it a secret that he favored the both of them equally. If something ever happened to him, Mello was sure that Roger would treat them with similar respect and inform them at the same time. He wouldn't simply lay it all on Near at some ungodly hour of the night and then forget to tell Mello altogether.

No, L wasn't it; something else was going on here.

But what could possess Near to make such a self-degrading move? Even the times he'd been actively worried about L, the little robotic brat had only sat in the high-backed chair by the main door and twisted a lock of hair around his finger. Those were the only times Near seemed even marginally in need of emotional support, and even then, one look in his eyes was all it took to grasp the concept that any such attempt at comforting him would be firmly rebuked. He didn't need solace, he needed hard facts that everything was fine so he could skitter off and stack blocks in an eerily similar fashion of L stacking sugar cubes. That was all he cared about.

Mello took another deep breath to help slow the irregular throbbing of his heart, then refocused on Near. In the glow of the silver-drenched room, he looked even more unearthly than normal. Angelical almost, if Mello dared to venture that far.

He didn't, of course, because Near was anything _but _an angel. It was true he never got into any trouble, and it was also true that he had an amazing lack of greed, but Mello found it altogether too hard to believe that any sort of angel would be so cold.

The truth was that Near was neither angel nor human; Near was a _doll_, resembling a human yet lacking the humanity to make him so. In all the years they had lived together, Mello had only seen Near cry once. He'd never heard him laugh either. It was hard for Mello to digest at first—he had _wanted _to be Near's friend; but Near was just so..._Near_. He had tried to get him to play around, tried to get him to laugh or smile or even get mad. Something, _anything_ that proved he had life inside of him. But with Near there was never anything to grab a hold of and run with, nothing to miss or love or worry about. He was like the small ghost of someone murdered and forgotten years ago, haunting the rooms with listless, soulless effort.

When they were younger, it had made Mello ache somewhere deep within, to think that someone could look so lost and so terribly lonely. He wanted to reach out to him, protect him, be the person he could always count on. But Near was impassive to his efforts, neither refusing nor accepting his friendship. He chose _toys _over Mello, and that was the real clincher that sent him off the deep end. He stopped trying after that; in fact, he was downright cruel to Near at times, and Near _didn't even care_. He'd simply accepted that Mello was no longer his shadow, following him here or pulling him there, telling him secrets and stories and everything else children told only their very best friends. They were suddenly rivals, enemies of the worst kind. Though Near never seemed to put in much effort in defending himself or fighting back, and maybe that was the worst part of all: he didn't even care enough about Mello to _hate _him. It was an insult so wounding that Mello could still feel the sting with every calm word Near directed at him.

So was that it, then? Was climbing into Mello's bed and tangling their limbs together some sick form of revenge? He wouldn't put something so seemingly harmless past Near. He was treacherous in his own way, sneakily so, no matter how innocent he appeared.

But despite the steely cord of suspicion weaving through his mind, Mello found himself relaxing into the embrace, gazing fixedly at the angel-faced zombie in his arms.

Perfect like a glass doll.

He was pleasant to look at, if nothing else. Similar to L in so many ways, yet less angular and more healthfully filled out in the cheeks.

Mello reached out in the darkness, fingers tracing against the curve of Near's jaw, skimming all the way up to his lips--full and heart-shaped.

He'd never been this close to Near before, with nothing but the thin barrier of their pajamas between them; heart to heart, breath to breath. It was fascinating somehow, almost a privilege, and the warmth between them was like a sedative, gently melting the animosity away and replacing it with a cozy wholeness.

Mello wrapped his arms around the smaller boys shoulders and pulled him close, suddenly beyond rational thought, running solely on instinct. Emotions always did take the upper hand with him, canceling out even the deadliest stalk of rivalry, clawing and yanking out the seedling anchoring his hatred to his consciousness; and, _God_, it was like heaven and harp music when Near sighed and leaned closer into him--the feel of him, the warmth of him, even the _smell _of him wrapped a thousand enchanted chords of gold around Mello's heart and _squeezed._

Near stirred and moved his leg upward, thigh sliding between the sensitive innards of Mello's and lightly grazing the private region between his legs. Mello shuddered inwardly, breath catching at the unexpected sensation that washed over him. Despite a chorus of inner protests, he found himself reacting to the motions, wanting this closeness with a piercing _need_.

Near stirred again, and Mello bit his lip, eyes sliding closed as a whimper slithered its way up his throat. The sound vibrated louder than he expected, shaking Near from his already light sleep. He pulled back, craning his neck to blink up at Mello through the moon-stained darkness. With a contented sigh, his body went slack again.

"Mel-"

Mello shoved him out of bed, cutting off his soft inquiry; not caring at all when the smaller boy gave a startled gasp as he hit the floor.

"What the _hell _do you think you're doing?" He demanded, sitting up and leaning over the bed to glare down at Near, hair falling in a cloudy frame around his face.

Near pushed himself upwards, suddenly unaffected by the hasty awakening. He rubbed at his skin where he'd landed on his arm, but his face was impassive as always as he took a few steps backward, toward the wall. "I was frightened."

"Of _what_?" Mello hissed.

"The lightning."

"Lightning?"

"Yes," Near said. "A natural electric discharge in the-"

"I know what lightning _is_, Near!" He blazed. "I find it hard to believe you were _scared _of it."

"It was more the sound of the thunder, really," he said, reaching up to mill a piece of hair between his fingers. "Sudden explosive noises tend to make people feel a little jumpy. Then I got to thinking about the probability of being stuck by lightning, and that's when I snuck into your room."

"That's so incredibly _stupid _I can hardly believe it!" Mello roared, thrashing out of bed himself to move closer to the other boy, pointing one accusatory finger at him as he drew closer. "The probability of being struck by lightning, _especially _within doors, is so miniscule-"

"It's happened," Near said, not at all bothered by Mello's animated fists flailing about as he spoke. "approximately 8% of reported incidences of people who have gotten struck by lightning have been indoors."

"And so you're telling me that the 8% chance of the 20% chance of getting struck by lightning frightened you enough to send you scurrying into my room in the middle of the night, _uninvited,_ so that you could climb into bed and molest my leg in your sleep?"

"Yes. That's correct."

Mello gaped, struggling and failing to form a retort in the wake of that confession, but all he seemed to be getting out were the sharp chokes of mutilated words. He wanted to _kill _Near, throttle the little bastard for being so openly perverted and goddamn _creepy_. He didn't even attempt to correct Mello's wild accusations, instead standing there like the soulless little freak he was and accepting that, yes, he certainly _must _have planned to dry hump Mello's leg, if that's what Mello said he has been doing. And, yes, he _must _have been doing it--Mello wouldn't jump to conclusions; Mello wouldn't completely blow everything out of proportion like he always did.

Mello didn't understand why Near believed _everything _he said, as if he were God and his words were absolute. He never second-guessed _anything _and stood behind _everything _one-hundred percent. Mello could admit that he _wanted _Near to distrust him; after all, Mello was a reckless, ruthless being, not some damn choir boy like Near seemed to think he was. Anything would have been better then him standing there giving the affirmative to everything that he said.

Near looked upward in the silent moments of Mello's blind fury, still twisting the small fringe of hair between his thumb and index. "It was quite enjoyable."

"Get _out, _Near!" Mello finally screamed, jolted back from his floundering mindset to his normal icy sharpness.

"That's fine," Near said, pulling his finger out of his hair and bending down to scoop a lone Transformer off the floor, evidently dropped and forgotten in his "terror" of the earlier storm. He crossed the room in his usual shuffle, toy curled in his arm, and made it all the way to the door before pausing.

Mello glowered at him from the bed, the action narrowing his already blazing eyes. Near, that _bastard_. Why wasn't he leaving?

The boy turned to peer at Mello over his shoulder, his Wicca-black eyes hollowing out his otherwise ghostly image.

"Oh, and Mello?" A smile crossed his face; a flimsy, evil, dapple of a smirk. "If I get scared again, I will come back. According to the weather channel, it's supposed to be a particularly blustery week."

Mello felt the slack-jawed outrage slam dead center into his chest. What the hell was _wrong _with him? He was being even creepier than usual, and he almost seemed proud of it. The little shit was so damn confident he could get away with anything he wanted. Well, not this time. Hell no. This was invasion of privacy, and there were clear rules marked and set against that. Mello didn't care _who _Near thought he was, he wasn't above Wammy's law. No one was. Even _L _had to eat his damn vegetables when he was home.

"Come in here again, and I _will _report you to Roger."

Near's smile only widened. "Oh, Mello. Would you really turn away someone in need?"

"You don't _need _anything," he sneered, absolutely revolted at Near's tactlessness. "Even your robots have more depth than you. You're not scared of a storm. I know it's the truth because you _have _no feelings."

Near's smugness evaporated, the faint tinge of emotion draining away like dirty bath water.

_Good_.

His cauldron eyes glazed over, looking miles from home as his fingers absently crept back up to his hair. "On the contrary," he said finally. "I could have very powerful feelings for you. That is, I could_… if _I allowed myself."

For the second time that night, Mello could do nothing but stare, eyes sharp and widened to an almost unnatural degree. "And just what the hell is _that _supposed to mean?"

"You're a smart boy, you figure it out." Near turned the door handle and pushed it open, blazing the dim glow of hallway lighting across the room. "Sleep well, Dear Mello."

And then he was gone.

Mello bristled in the encroaching darkness, teeth grinding as his hands squeezed reflexively into fists.

He _hated _that! He hated it when Near called him "Dear" Mello. It was an insult under the guise of a compliment and no one saw it for the deceitful jab that it was. He'd heard giggles and "aww's" and "How sweet's" in the wake of that disgusting nickname, reactions from the various maids and caregivers throughout the orphanage who didn't know any better. The poor, ignorant fools.

Even L couldn't help but give a dry chuckle when Near threw it around, although it was obvious L's amusement was derived from the fact that his precious Nate was so clever with his mind games and _not _because it was "cute."

He couldn't get too upset about it though; L let a lot of Mello's own snarky remarks off the hook--perhaps only an attempt to teach the children to fight their own battles--but no matter, L _was _always willing to dispense sound advice to help aid them in their constant war with the other.

Mello looked at the clock.

1:24 AM.

He hesitated a beat, then kicked the blankets off and ambled out of bed. It was as good a time as any. Like he was really going to get any sleep anyway; not now that Near decided to rub his scent all over everything like a fucking Cocker Spaniel.

Stupid brat.

* * *

It didn't take a lot of searching to find L, tucked away in his study, splashed with the flickering blue of a TV set and perched on a Lazyboy, teacup in hand. He seemed to be thoroughly absorbed in whatever he was watching, either not noticing or not caring when Mello cracked the door open and peeked inside. His trance was only broken when Mello leaned against it, the hinges creaking against the pressure. L's eyes sliced with catlike precision across the room, the sugar cube he'd been rolling across his lips coming to a pause.

"Mello," he said, shoving it between his teeth with a crunch. "Mmm. Please, come in."

He hit the _pause _button, then leaned over a tray of various confections, bypassing a pile of mini-donuts to scoop up a couple chocolates and drop them into Mello's palm as the younger boy plopped into the chair beside his.

"What are you doing?" Mello asked, scanning the frozen image on the screen. "Watching the…_Japanese _news in the middle of the night?"

"Precisely," L said. "Something very peculiar has been happening around the world, and it seems the first incidents occurred within Japan. This tape contains nearly a dozen of those occurrences caught on film by either the news or personal video feed."

Mello "hmmphed" and popped a chocolate into his mouth, sucking gently as he considered. "So, exactly what is it that's happening during these occurrences?"

"As I said," L started, pausing to pop another sugar cube into his mouth. "It's very peculiar, and I'd love to get your thoughts on the matter. Take a look at _this_."

He stamped down on the _play _button, setting the screen in motion again. There was a lot of commotion from a swarm of reporters as a lawyer descended the staircase outside of a Japanese courtroom, ushering his twenty-something-year-old client along with an air of triumph.

"This is Katashi Ichisada," L said, talking over the indistinguishable buzz of questions being thrown at the men. "A twenty-six-year-old high school drop-out with a criminal record larger than a phone book. Most were minor offenses, with one count of grand theft auto and three rape charges-- all of which were later dropped after the victims mysteriously disappeared. The body of the last victim, nineteen-year-old Miyuki Nozara, was found in a dumpster behind a night club Ichisada has been known to frequent. She had multiple skull fractures and lacerations on her throat and wrists. Ichisada's skin cells _were _found under her fingernails during the autopsy, but she was otherwise clean of his DNA."

The video panned to the left, where a group of three were being led down the staircase, two of them--a middle aged couple--were sobbing into tissues.

"_We are heartbroken by the final verdict_," the lawyer said, continuing to maneuver his clients through the mobs. "_A grim mistake was made today in releasing Katashi Ichisada. Another criminal is free to harm the innocent, with little more than a slap on the wrist. I can only hope his next victim will be enough to finally put him behind bars._"

"What? They're just going to let him _go_?" Mello asked, voice drenched in outrage. "On what grounds?"

"Just keep watching," L said, chewing anxiously on his thumbnail.

Mello looked back toward the screen, disgust curling bitterly in his chest. His nose wrinkled as the camera cut back to Ichisada, showing off a few gold teeth through a wicked-looking grin.

"_I feel terrible for the victim's family," _he said, smile never faltering. "_I know in my heart that the real murderer will eventually be found."_

"_Would you like to say anything to the Nozara family_?"

"_I'm sorry for your loss," _He said, and Mello wanted to knock his face back into his fucking skull and then tear it down his spine and out his asshole. _"All I can say now is-"_

Ichisada suddenly seized up, eyes widening as he began to choke.

"_Katashi?_" His lawyer asked, grabbing the younger mans arm as he began to clutch at his chest; sharp, strangled noises bubbling out of his throat.

"What the-" Mello started, blinking in disbelief.

Ichisada collapsed in a heap on the ground.

L paused the image and looked at Mello expectantly, still crunching on a nail.

"Well?" He said. "What do you think?"

Mello opened his mouth, but nothing seemed to come out for a few moments. He blinked at the screen, glanced toward L, then back at the screen one last time. "Did…did he die?"

"Yes, it seems that he did," L said. "He's just one of the many criminals who have died of a sudden, unexplainable heart attack after being broadcast on the news."

Mello finally turned toward L, taking in the sharp glint of excitement dancing in his eyes. "You think someone's murdering them?"

"Someone or some_thing_." L pulled his laptop out from between the side of the chair and flipped it open, balancing it on the arm. "Originally, I considered the possibility of a court insider or group of individuals somehow lacing prisoners and criminals food or drink with certain drugs. In large enough quantities, it could lead to cardiac arrest. However," he paused to type, clicking away at the keys and hitting _enter _with a final, rather loud, snap. "No such traces of drugs were found in any of the bodies. Incidentally, criminals began dying all over the world, not just within Japan. It's too convenient to be coincidental; masses of criminals all dying of heart attacks? And only those who have either been broadcast on the news or otherwise publicized in the media?"

"But how could a single person kill criminals all over the world with a heart attack?" Mello asked. "It just doesn't sound possible."

"Ah. That's the million dollar question," L said, turning the laptop toward Mello. "What do you make of this?"

"The Legend of Kira the Savior." Mello read it out loud, a mixture of bewilderment and fascination lacing the words. He scanned over the first page, reading the story of the legend and the following comments of believers--those both with and against this new and upcoming "God."

As he read, Mello realized with a faint sinking in the pit of his stomach that L was already taken with this mystery, and that this was a mystery that wasn't going to be quickly or easily solved. L would be leaving, within a few days probably, and Mello would once again be left behind with Near The Snot-Nosed Monster to look after. He wondered briefly if L would ever allow his successor to work _with _him on an investigation. Surely the best kind of training was hands-on. If he expressed enough interest in the case, if he proved he'd be an asset instead of an inconvenience, then perhaps, just _maybe_…

"It seems like most people believe he has some sort of supernatural abilities, and that he's judging these criminals based on his own views of justice," he mused, honestly becoming more fascinated with it himself. He was almost envious of the power; almost wanted to cheer Kira on. Ichisada certainly got what he deserved, there was no mistake about that.

"They may be right," L chimed in, staring idly into his teacup. "But the question is whether this is the wrath _by _supernatural force _of _a supernatural being, or a human who's somehow obtained this supernatural ability. If it's the latter, how did he come to possess this power?"

Mello's heart skipped a beat, a trill of realization washing over him as the pieces fell into a familiar pattern and began taking shape. He shoved his last bit of chocolate into his mouth and chewed fiercely as his hands flew over the keyboard, the keys snapping like poppers under his fingers.

"If it's the former," L went on, still lost in his own musings on the situation. He sighed and took hold of his teaspoon, stirring a melodious tune in his cup. "I really don't want to think about what it would mean if it's the former. A supernatural _being _could be just about anything. A witch, a ghost, a-"

"Shinigami."

The pinging sounds of the teaspoon cut off sharply, a cold silence falling across the room as the suggestion lingered with smoggy thickness around them. L turned slowly back toward Mello, eyes wide in curiosity.

"Shinigami?" He asked, tilting his head slightly, almost mesmerized by the word. "You mean the old Japanese myth?"

"Matt has a videogame centered on the legends of Shinigami's," Mello said, turning the laptop back toward L to show him the website he'd brought up. "In the game, the Shinigami's, or God's of Death, kill people to extend their own lives. The object of the game is to kill as many people as possible."

"…And Roger approves of this game?" L asked, voice flat-lining.

"Roger doesn't _know _about this game," Mello answered. "According to legend, Shinigami's are meant to protect people. However, other legends suggest they're _responsible _for death. No one knows how they kill, but it's rumored that the deaths almost always take the form of natural causes."

"Like a heart attack," L said.

"Exactly like a heart attack."

"Are you telling me you believe that these God's of Death actually exist?" He asked, thumbing his lower lip as he scanned the website.

"I wouldn't rule it out," Mello answered. "The fact that someone or something has the ability to simultaneously kill so many people across the globe without so much as touching them suggests that…that _anything _is possible."

L peered up at him, a smile materializing around his thumb. "Is it any wonder you're one of the first in line to succeed me?"

"Let me work on the case with you," Mello blurted, but cringed as soon as the words left his mouth. Christ, he hasn't even _meant _to say it; he just wanted it so badly.

"That's absolutely out of the question." L set his teacup aside and pushed himself out of the chair.

"But _why, _L_?" _Mello asked, trying hard not to let the words take on the annoying octave of a whine. Immaturity would get him nowhere very quickly. "Wouldn't it be a good idea for me to get some actual training in? Wouldn't it be "beneficial" and all that other bullshit if I could work alongside you on a few cases?"

"Perhaps it would," L said, slipping his hands into the backs of his jeans pockets and crossing the room to the window. "In fact, I've already considered it. It's likely I may some day ask you to join me during an investigation, but not _this _investigation. It's far too dangerous."

Mello actually rolled his eyes, then shoved himself out of the chair to join L at the window. "Being L _is _dangerous. That's why you have successors in the first place. Besides, what kind of a successor would I be if a case was too 'dangerous' for me? _Nothing _is too dangerous for me; I _am _danger."

L shot him a sarcastic sort of glance. "Everybody who's ever stepped foot in Wammy's House can attest to that. That's not the problem."

"What _is _the problem, then?"

"The problem is that I said no," he said simply, moving back to the TV and hitting the _eject _button. "Although, I have to say I am quite impressed with how quickly you formulated your speculations on the matter." He paused to slip the video back into the case and tuck it away in a box lying beside the goody table.

"Then let me help you on the case."

"I can't do that, Mello," he said around a frustrated sigh. "The main reason you want to work with me on this case is because you'd rather not be left to deal with Near on your own."

Mello's eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, though he said nothing on the matter. L was right, of course; L was _always _right.

"I should have you know that if I were to allow you to come with me, I would have no choice but to bring Near along as well."

"Yes, you would," Mello snapped. "It's easy, just leave him here. Throw a few Lego's in the corner and sneak away while he's too busy making love with them to notice."

L looked upwards. "I _really _wish you wouldn't talk about him that way."

"I'm only telling the truth," Mello said, throwing himself back into the chair.

It was so unfair. For all of L's genius, he certainly was an unreasonably stubborn bastard when he wanted to be. Mello failed to see why Near couldn't just stay here without them. He didn't _want _to be here with him at all, but especially when L wasn't around. The spoiled brat pestered him twice as often when the detective wasn't around, and now that he was reaching even deeper levels of freaksville, Mello was actually almost _frightened _to be left alone with him.

L moved to stand in front the chair, bending even lower then usual to peer into Mello's face, hair a wild splash of black across his forehead.

"He's really not so bad, you know."

Mello snorted. "Yeah? _You _try living with him year round."

L looked upward, rubbing contemplatively at his neck. "Hmm. I imagine it would be extremely pleasant. Near and I get along quite well."

"That's only because he follows you around and sits at your feet like a stupid mutt. Some of us don't enjoy _pets_."

"Matt seems to enjoy him as well. In fact, Near came to the same conclusion as you about Shinigami's based on Matt's video game. Apparently, they're rather good friends."

"Matt can kiss my ass," Mello snapped, the flare of unexpected jealousy igniting his already short fuse.

L's eyes widened a degree. Mocked surprise? Mello didn't know; it was always hard to tell.

"But I was under the impression that Matt was your best friend."

"Yeah, well-" Mello leaned over L's empty chair to grab another chocolate, mostly for the sake of having something to do besides sulk. "He can still kiss my ass."

L reached for the laptop, now inched precariously on the side of the arm of the chair, seconds from clattering to the floor. He snapped it closed and crossed the room to put it back on the desk, muttering to himself all the while.

Mello ignored him, making a slow celebration of eating his chocolate--chocolate covered cherry, as it turned out--scraping the top portion of the shell off with his teeth and then licking at the clear, pinkish gel inside.

L came back around with an air of eerie silence, grabbing at Mello's free hand, lying limply at his side, and hauled him to his feet.

"Hey, what the-"

"You're being even more of a firecracker tonight than usual," L said, holding Mello's shoulders and peering deeply into his eyes. "I've never before heard you speak to me, or of your friends, with such callous disrespect before. Now, tell me what's happened that's left you in such rotten mood."

Mello hesitated a moment, then sighed and looked away. In that moment, he was almost glad for L's miserable posture; it leveled them out to about the same height. If he stood up straight, L would be looking down on him, and he already felt smaller than Thumbelina.

He really _had _been disrespecting L, and he hadn't even noticed until L pointed it out. What was _happening _to him? Was Near honestly getting to him so badly it was blinding him to his _own emotions? _How was that even possible?

"I'm sorry, L," He said, but not before looking bravely back into his eyes. Near-like eyes; bewitching and dark like magic.

"I didn't ask for an apology," L said.

Mello sighed again, unable to stop himself from pulling his eyes away. A cowardly move that wouldn't go unnoticed. "It's Near."

"Isn't it always?" L asked. "What's happened this time?"

Oh, Hell. What could he say besides the truth?

_Shit_.

"I caught him sleeping in bed with me tonight." Mello forced the words through clenched teeth, the stain of humiliation burning slowly across his cheeks. "Said he was scared of the _lightning_."

A smirk crossed L's face. "Is that what he told you?"

"Pretty lame excuse, right?" Mello asked, voice softening.

"It sounds contrived, I confess," L said, releasing Mello's shoulders and moving back to the table to gather his spoon and teacup and begin mixing again. "But who's to say he _isn't _frightened of it?"

Mello slid the remaining portion of his treat into his mouth, sucking the remaining goop off his fingers. "He's never been afraid of it before."

"Or perhaps you've simply never caught him in your bed before."

Mello paused his chewing, eyes narrowing suspiciously as he watched L innocently sipping from his cup. _Too _innocently.

"You knew about this already," he accused. "Near _has _slept in my bed before, and you knew about it the whole time!"

L graced him with a bored look, taking a painfully long time to drain his cup before answering. "Just before I brought Near to the orphanage, I told him that if he ever needed anything, that he could always count on you. I suppose he truly took it to heart."

"So you're telling me you're _okay _with this?" Mello demanded. "L! Who's side are you on?"

A distinct harshness crossed the detectives face, shattering the illustrious mask of innocence. "The best thing about Wammy's House is that everyone is on the _same side_, and that's _my side._"

Mello stared him down, wavering slightly on the inside--he'd never before rattled L so much that he'd taken such a harsh, clipped tone with him--but he felt betrayed. How could L allow Near to do something that was obviously bothering him on much deeper levels than pure annoyance?

L sighed. "Mello, your stubbornness is as enduring as it is a nuisance." His face softened again. "If Near has been sneaking into your room before tonight, I was unaware of it. That much I can promise you. But I will say that I don't necessarily dissaprove of it. From the beginning I have wanted the two of you to rely on each other. The fact that he did so with such compliance is worthy of applause in my opinion. I was beginning to lose faith that the two of you could ever get along."

It was Mello's turn to sigh. He rubbed idly at his sinuses, feeling the weight of the late hour suddenly weigh on him like an iron jacket. Sleep. He needed sleep.

"_Okay," _he growled. "Okay. I will try my best to get along with Near during your _brief _absence. I'll be more patient and…help him out with anything he might need."

L's lips hinted at a smirk, his eyelids lowering in pleasure. "Mello, you're a saint."

"Yeah, well don't get too used to it," he said, walking toward the door. "I can't promise I won't murder him and simply get along with the _body_."

"I love you, too, precious," L called, voice monotonous with a raised note of teasing curled at the end.

"Goodnight, L," Mello snapped back as he slammed the door closed. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, taking in a slow, deep breath. "…I love you, too."

* * *

_To be continued...._ Please review_!!!_

_-BratChild3_


	3. Peter Pan

**Authors Note: **Thank you everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I greatly appreciate your input. It took forever to get this chapter out, but it is rather long.

A bit of info.... First, Ker-plunk. I don't even know if they make that game anymore, so if they don't, and for those of you who don't know it---basically it's a bunch of sticks holding up mables in a tube. Each player takes a turn pulling a stick out. Whoever makes the mables fall out loses.

Matt-- I don't understand why everyone calls him a redhead when his hair looks very brown to me in the anime. Light looks more like a redhead to me than Matt, and everyone calls Light a brunette! What am I missing here? :/

I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I look forward to any feedback.

* * *

**Chapter 3- Peter Pan**

God, he was having one of _those _dreams again. The kind where he was fucking the hell out of Near. Mello was covering the other's mouth in this one, muffling the noises to keep the sound of sex from filtering through the thinly-plastered confines of the closet he'd thrown him into.

He'd almost call it a nightmare, really, but couldn't quite convince himself of that. Nightmares were illusions you desperately wanted out of, struggled to break free from and did everything in your power to push out of your mind. But Mello only fought to control his actions within these visions. Sometimes they were too soft, the touches too gentle, and he had to struggle to change the pace, to make it last.

But he never tried to escape them.

No, these weren't nightmares at all. He didn't look for an out because he didn't _want _out. He wanted _in_. Harder, deeper, faster. Near's moist whimpers against his palm, his hands gripping at the wall, the sound of smooth, bare thighs smacking against each thrust.

F_uck_, it was good. _Fuck, _it was amazing. _Fuck, _it was perfectand heavenly and sinful and wonderful and _delicious_…

The thud of someone kicking the side of the mattress jolted him back to consciousness. He shot upright, blinking the dryness from his eyes. As the bleary image of Matt's face became clearer, something that felt suspiciously like regret cracked over Mello's skull and oozed down his spine. Reality swallowed the pleasurable onslaught of his dream with the quickness of sand.

He fell back against his pillow with a sigh, racking all ten fingers through corn-silk hair. Damn Matt for shaking him back to reality. Damn him straight to hell.

"Dreaming about me again?" Matt asked, cocoa-brown eyes caressing down Mello's body to the front of his pajama pants. His goggles were pulled up, hidden in his ruffled bangs. A tinge of hunger burned just under the playful gleam of his smirk.

With a groan, Mello dragged his hands down his face and dug the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. "Hardly."

"_Hard_-ly sounds about right to me," Matt said.

Mello paused his rubbing to glare up at him, but made no attempt to hide the evidence. After all, they were best friends. Said "evidence" had already been in Matt's mouth on more than one adolescently experimental occasion. Embarrassment would be superfluous at this point.

That sort of thing wasn't an every day occurrence, though. It didn't make them lovers, and Mello wasn't in the playful sort of mood he needed to be in to _want _to mess about with his best friend.

"Do you mind telling me what the hell you want?" He snapped instead.

"Hmm." Matt plopped onto the bed, rubbing at his chin as he looked over the other boy. "Sleeping in late, enormous hard-on, already bitchy. You were dreaming about Near again."

"Get out."

"You should just trap him in the bathroom and get on with it," Matt said, not at all put off by Mello's evident lust for Near or the fire blazing behind his eyes. "Then maybe your little problem will go away." He put his hand over the blanket on Mello's thigh, sliding upwards. "Or should I say _big _problem?"

"You flatter me," Mello said dryly.

Matt inched his fingers higher, gently nudging the bulge. "Does that mean you'll let _me _fix the problem for you?"

"For all your generous attempts, you haven't fixed it yet." Mello slapped his hand away. "I'm still having dreams, and never about _your _sorry ass."

Matt yanked his goggles back down into place. "Heartbreaker," he said, lower lip protruding in an open pout.

Mello fought back a snort. As if hiding behind yellow lenses really made him look any less childish. Besides, there were far more pressing concerns than satisfying an overactive sex-drive, even at the expensive of bruising Matt's ego. It was sizeable enough to withstand a few blows anyway.

Mello twisted to his right, fulfilling his morning routine of checking his lacquered bedside table for sweets. Not that he needed a sugar fix upon waking in order to properly function, but rather to check L's status at Wammy's.

Though L had never actually told him, Mello had made the connection somewhere around age three: If L had to leave for an investigation last minute, unable to give a proper farewell, he would leave a small handful of candies beside Mello's lamp. It was a sort of official "unofficial" goodbye.

Mello had expected to find a handful of foil-wrapped chocolates gleaming against the numbers of his alarm clock the past three mornings. This Kira thing… well, it was getting fucking _scary_, to be frank, and the scarier it got, the brighter the spark shone in L's sea-deep eyes. Watari had already gone ahead to Japan two days ago, making the necessary preparations so that L could move right into whatever hideout or hotel suite he'd come up with and continue onwards with the investigation, no hiccups in his steady work-flow. But every morning the table was empty, and Mello would frown, wondering if L had forgotten about him this time.

"He's still here," Matt said, noting Mello's confusion. "But he's leaving today. The time is still undetermined."

Mello's stomach lurched and twisted painfully. The suddenness made his face contort, but Matt continued, oblivious.

"He's already taken a bit of time out to play airplane with Near and some video games with me. I'd imagine he-"

"Airplane?" Mello asked, a sarcastic quirk arching one eyebrow.

Matt shrugged. "What's wrong with that?"

"Near's too damn old for that game."

Matt snorted. "It doesn't matter. Not when you're barely five foot and Peter Pan is your mentor."

"Wow, Matt." Mello slid out of bed, ignoring the needle-like stabs in his stomach. An omen, maybe, but he didn't care to explore that idea. "That was disrespectful. I didn't know you had it in you."

"That was a _compliment_!" Matt said. "Peter Pan is my hero. You think I ever want to give up video games just because the number of years I've been on Earth keeps upping itself? I would gladly fly to Neverland and live forever in a pedophiliac, semi-incestuous relationship with L. The entire concept is a huge turn-on."

Mello paused in his track to the antique armoire to shoot a pointed look over his shoulder.

"What?" Matt held up his hands, palms outward. "L is an oversized, dark-haired Near. You can't tell me you haven't had similar thoughts about him."

"Get the hell out so I can get dressed without you eye-raping me," Mello said, tearing off his cotton nightshirt and heaving it into Matt's face. Matt instinctively caught and hurled it back at him.

"I can't wait until you bone Near," He said, much too loudly. "Maybe he'll yank the pillar-sized stick out of your ass while he's at it."

"Fuck you!" Mello growled, this time grabbing one of his boots to chuck across the room.

Matt dodged it expertly, ducking behind the door and slamming it closed just as it hit. His laughter echoed through the wood, cynical and infections as it faded down the hall and disappeared.

Mello shook his head, smirking despite himself. Matt, the pervert. He didn't know what he'd do without him.

He pulled fresh clothes from the armoire, and then groaned when he looked down. If he'd known morning wood would be such a _persistent _problem for him today, he wouldn't have chased Matt away so soon.

---

L was in the common room when Mello came down the stairs, for once not weighted down with files and surveillance videos and random packets of evidence. He was crouched on the floor next to the window, playing a game of Chinese Checkers with Near and some blonde girl. A decoy, as Mello referred to them. One of the regular orphans who hadn't a clue who L really was or that the handful children who roomed on the third floor were up for his title. They thought L was Roger's grandson. Although they were all bright, gifted children, none of them were bright or gifted enough to get through the filtration process and pass into the secret world of L's heirs.

Mello hated them. He had no reason to, really, but he did all the same. Not because they were inferior. They _were _inferior, of course, but that wasn't the reason. They didn't understand what it was _like _to be L's heir; the pressure, the expectations, the training.

Not that it was bad. In fact, Mello wouldn't have it any other way. But the decoys were such _babies_. They seemed to only care about themselves, only cared to sit around and daydream about being adopted and whisked away by some rich family that didn't exist and most likely never would, as if Wammy's House was some run-down, flea farm they couldn't wait to break free from. It wasn't true. Wammy's wasn't your everyday orphanage. Wammy's was a _mansion_, with maids, and cooks, and caretakers; decorated with velvet laced drapes, marble countertops, and gold-rimmed sinks. The children were all treated well (almost spoiled, really), with plenty of food, comfortable beds, and hot showers. It seemed almost immoral to want more. Maybe he would understand it if he wasn't one of L's, but as things were, Mello couldn't relate. Mello couldn't pretend he wanted a family when he damn well knew L's heirs would ever only have each other. He couldn't pretend he hated Wammy's House when he thanked God every single day that he was there, that L was his guardian, that Roger and Quillish were his grandparents, that Matt was his brother and Near was...

_Nate_.

Extended family though they may be, it was the only family Mello ever had, and the concept of some funny smelling people taking him away from this life and his home and his _L _was about as appealing to consider as shoving bamboo shoots up his fingernails. Although he had to admit that despite the decoy's blatant ungratefulness and self-pitying natures, they weren't half as irritating as Near, the little white-haired rat.

At the moment, he was leaning comfortably against L's side, one leg curled up to his chest, a snowy strand of hair wrapped around his index finger. He seemed to concentrate a while before pushing a blue marble across the game board. L nudged his shoulder, and Near's face brightened at the touch. The faintest of smiles hinted at his opalescent lips.

Mello's fingers curled into the polished wood of the doorframe as he watched, clip-shortened nails scrapping against the reflective surface with a dragging grind.

Sometimes he could tolerate the little snowball. Sometimes it was entertaining to have him around, mainly because he was an easy target and served as a substantial boredom busting outlet when Mello was feeling sinister but too lazy to prank. Near was also the only one who could match his wits, play his twisted mind games and even hit him back with some of his own. The mental stimulation he derived from their love-hate rivalry was satisfying enough to pacify his emotional exhaustion with it all. For that much, Mello was able to find it in himself to be considerate with the brat, almost gentle at times. Most of the time, though, the mere sight of him was enough to trigger the hatred that arrowed through the core of Mello's pin-slender body.

With his lip curling reflexively in a sneer, fists clenching at his side and into the doorway, he already knew today was going to be one of those days. He didn't even want to _look _at the little monster. If he did, he might throttle him, if only to get those creepy, black magic eyes to widen a little with fear.

"You probably shouldn't have sexual assault fantasies about Near with L in the room," Matt said from behind, startling him badly enough to make him jerk. "He knows all. He _sees _all."

"I wasn't having sexual assault fantasies about Near, damnit," Mello said, forcing the words to jet through barely controlled anger.

Matt jammed a fresh battery into the back of a purple Gameboy. "Peter Pan, then?"

"That's _your _twisted fantasy," Mello said, starting off toward the kitchens.

Matt trailed behind him, faint clicks and beeps now emanating from the newly revived game. He matched Mello's pace in equal steps, as if being pulled by an invisible chain. He never once looked up from the screen

"So why aren't you plastering yourself to his side?" Matt asked, leaning against the white marbled countertop.

Mello pulled out a non-stick frying pan and rubber handled spatula, the chrome flat of it glinting in the light flooding through the blinded windows. "I'm going to make him breakfast."

Matt snorted. "So that's your plan of action?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Matt squeezed his eyes closed, shaking with silent laughter.

"What the hell is so _funny_?"

"You." Matt paused to swallow back his mirth. "You're going cook?"

"Of course I'm going to cook." Mello opened the cupboard to the right of Matt's head and began rummaging around for pancake mix. "I'm an expert."

"I've never seen you cook a day in your life." Matt bit his lip to keep the laughter down. His game had been forgotten, dangling from his fingers at his side.

"Well," Mello said. "I'm no chef, but I know how to make pancakes. L taught me."

"L taught me," Matt mimicked, smacking the back of his hand to his forehead and sighing with fraudulent lovesickness. "Seriously, though, do you want to know the funniest part of this whole charade?"

"_What _charade? It's _pancakes_!"

Matt ignored him. "The funniest part is that, although I've no doubt you don't want to see L die from anorexia nervosa as a result of living off sugar cubes in Watari's absence, the main reason you're doing this is to get him away from Near."

Mello pulled out the box of _Bisquick_, shaking his head. "That's absolutely-"

"Plausible," Matt said. "Absolutely plausible. The both of you play this game constantly, using L as some sort of tool to help you irate each other. The part I can't figure out is if you're jealous of L being close to Near, or Near being close to L."

"The part _I _can't figure out is why L is under the impression you have a brain," Mello snapped.

Matt's grin was crooked, weighted with cockiness. "I have my ways. Don't ever let anyone tell you that I'm-" He cut off as Near wandered in, mute as snowflakes.

Mello glanced over, curious of the sudden pause, and they both watched Near pad over to the cabinet reserved for tableware, finger twisted in his hair. He pulled out two sets, lining them in a row that gleamed like icicles against the countertop.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, you little brat?" Mello asked.

Near didn't so much as blink at the insult. "Making breakfast for L."

Matt gave an amused snort, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No, you're not," Mello said, teeth clenched. "_I'm _making breakfast for L."

Near spared him a glance, expression revealing nothing. "Pancakes are not a substantial breakfast. I've been up with him since half-passed three and he's eaten nothing but gummy bears."

"So what?" Mello said. "L _likes _pancakes."

"He also likes oatmeal with honey and strawberries, and he'll eat scrambled eggs if it's mixed with marmalade. Protein is important."

Near, being such a tiny _rodent_, struggled to reach the plates in the overhead cupboard. He stretched out on socked tiptoes and was still barely able to graze the ledge of them with his fingertips.

_Serves him right_, Mello thought, smirking.

But Matt was a traitor, and Mello hadn't counted on that. Although he _should _have. He crossed the linoleum floor to Near and pulled out two plates.

Peter Pan. Ever the hero.

"Here you are, little buddy," He said, smiling as he passed them into smaller hands.

"Thank you," Near replied and, to Mello's horror, blessed him with an inkling of a smile.

Mello felt his blood rush upward, flipping his stomach into a knot and exploding in violent starbursts.

"Matt!" He snapped. "Don't _help _him!"

Matt frowned. "But he's just a little guy."

"A little _monster_," Mello said, sneering.

Near turned that horribly magnetic gaze toward him, the gravity of it almost overwhelming. Mello would have looked away if he wasn't so determined to never back down. But it was uncomfortable. He hated being scrutinized, especially so openly.

"Mello," Near said, voice much too considerate. "Throwing juvenile nicknames at me isn't going to achieve anything. It's certainly not going to stop me from fixing L a proper breakfast. So why don't you go do something a little more useful?"

Matt's amusement had faded, eyes now widened in surprise.

"Yeah, that definitely sounds like my cue to leave." He took a moment to absorb what was plainly murderous intentions flickering across Mello's face, then patted Near on the shoulder on his way toward the exit. "I'll make the funeral arrangements."

Mello's glare smoldered into Near's equally as stoic expression until Matt disappeared.

"_What _did you just say to me?" His grip on the spatula was fatal, the utensil quivering with barely controlled outrage.

Near turned his back and began rummaging in the pantry, placing much more faith in Mello's ability to restrain himself than Matt

"Perhaps that was a little harsh," he said. "I'm willing to collaborate. I'll leave out the oatmeal and we can replace it with the pancakes. It's not as healthy, but I admit he would most likely enjoy them more."

"You're a raging moron if you think I'm going to agree to that. I will _not-" _he sputtered a moment, unable to finish as his promise to L skittered through his mind.

…_I'll try to get along with Near._

He bit his lip, wishing now he'd found a way out of that agreement. He had been too tired to argue it to his full potential, and now he was stuck being "best buddies" with _Nate River_. Much as he wanted to say fuck it, he couldn't go back on his word. He did say he'd try to get along with Near _during L's absence_, and at present, L was still there. But it would look bad if they were squabbling the day of L's departure.

No doubt it would look especially bad on Mello, who had made the promise in the first place. Near probably knew that, and he was probably making cooperation nerve-grating on purpose.

Well, that was just fine. Mello saw through his little plan and he wasn't falling for it.

"Fine," he said, leveling his biting tone out to a more agreeable pitch. "We'll _both _make breakfast for L."

_And he'll like the part I make the most, _he wanted to add, but managed to refrain. Near had an argument for everything, and even when he didn't, agreement felt worse somehow, like he was intentionally sucking all the fun out of Mello's victory. Better to keep it to himself and gloat later.

"Sounds good," Near said, juggling a carton of eggs as he crossed the room and took position next to Mello by the stove. "Let the cooking commence."

---

L was on the phone when he was forced into the dining room, Mello tugging his wrist and Near pushing him from behind. He paid little attention to either of them, being far too absorbed in his conversation to comment or protest as he was guided to the table.

"Excellent work, Watari." He made an _oomph _sound as he was shoved into a chair, but it didn't seem to faze him. He simply raised a knee to his chest, pushing himself up into his usual perch with his heels. "Please set up a connection from me to the ICPO and make your appearance this afternoon. We need to take action before anyone panics and makes any foolish moves. I'm sure you understand the potentially unfavorable outcome that could have."

His gaze was rendered on something just above the tabletop, though his eyes were spacey and glazed as he paused to listen to Watari's response.

"Yes, I understand," he said, then closed the phone with a flick and slid it into his pocket.

He looked at both boys, sitting on either side of him, then down at the colorful smorgasbord--scrambled eggs, sliced fruit, bacon, pancakes, and varied condiments. His gaze stopped on the fresh pot of white tea.

"What's all this?" He asked, making a sliding gesture toward it with his hand.

"I made you breakfast," Mello answered, beaming.

"I might have had something to do with it as well." Near's stony voice was directed more toward Mello than L.

Mello met his challenging tone with a glower.

"I made the eggs," Near added.

Mello's glare deepened. "I made the pancakes."

Near nodded. "And I sprinkled chocolate chips between them."

Mello's eyes widened in outrage. The little prick had messed with his creation, purposely tampered with it to make it better because he could always do _everything _better.

He clenched his teeth, the smoldering force of hatred blistering across his skin. "You underhanded little-"

"It all looks delicious," L said, slicing through the tension. "But I'm afraid I wont be able to eat it all myself. Near." He touched the boy's shoulder, drawing his attention away from Mello. "Would you please get some extra plates? I'd like the two of you to share it with me."

Near slid out of the chair and wandered toward the kitchen like an obedient teacup poodle, not an ounce of defiance in his annoying, stupid little stance.

When he disappeared through the doorway, Mello turned toward L, whose cryptic doe eyes were brimming with amusement. Mello could feel heat curling up his cheeks, and damned if he wasn't sure why. All he knew was that L's knowing smirks whenever he and Near fought were as humiliating as if he had been caught masturbating. It did nothing to sate his already broken temper.

"_What_?" he finally snapped, after a few mortifying seconds trying to ignore the detective.

L's lips twitched slightly. "He didn't mean anything by it."

Mello slammed his fist down on the table, rattling the teapot and raspberry marmalade jar. "Why are you _always _defending him?"

"Why are you always putting me in situations where I must defend him?"

Well, that was a question he hadn't been expecting. For a moment, he faltered, feeling his anger cool as he struggled for an answer. But already his time was up. If one couldn't answer L immediately, then one hadn't thought the question over long enough to give a concrete answer, and L wouldn't accept such unstable excuses. That was something all of heirs knew upside-down, backwards, and with their eyes closed.

With a sigh, Mello wilted against his chair and looked away. Defeat was miserable.

L uncurled himself from the chair and moved to the china hutch in the corner of the room.

"Besides," he said, pulling out two teacups to match the third already on the table. "When did you become such a hypocrite?"

At the accusation, Mello's face contorted, confusion settling in place of his anger. _Hypocrite _was something that hadn't crossed his mind when applying labels to himself, either by profiling or in his ongoing war with Near. He'd always played fair in that respect. Or so he thought. He had obviously overlooked something that L hadn't. "I'm a… hypocrite?"

"Yes." L reached over Mello's shoulder and place a cup in front of him. "May I ask you something?"

Mello stared down at the table, his mind churning the idea around and coming up invalid as each angle presented itself.

"Uh…" He finally shrugged. "Sure."

Placing the second cup in front of the chair opposite of Mello's, L resumed his perch at the head of the table, between the two. "Who made the eggs?"

Mello looked at him again, pausing minutely. He caught the glitch in that inquiry. This was obviously a trick question. Or a rhetorical one. "It was Near. Didn't he already say that?"

L nodded. "And now tell me: who topped them with marmalade?"

Mello's shoulders squared proudly. "That was my-" He began, but his smile withered as quickly as it had appeared.

_Oh._

Shame rippled up his core as a mental connection of chocolate chips and marmalade sparked to life. He was no better than Near, adding sweets to the other's concoction in the hopes that L would appreciate the added touch more than the entrée, and in turn favor the clever successor over the more practical. Mello knew he was being sneaky, but he hadn't realized how infuriation it was until it has been done to him.

Hypocrite, indeed; Mello felt like a complete ass.

He jerked as L's hand settled on his shoulder, liquid-black eyes warm with sincerity. "It's hard to recognize your own downfalls when you're blinded by obsession. Don't beat yourself up, just learn from it."

Before Mello could reply, the word _obsession _seesawing through his head_, _Near reappeared. Mello snapped his jaw closed, busying himself by tinkering with the sugar bowl. No way in hell he was going to let Near know that L thought he was obsessed with him. If anything, Near needed taking down a few notches, not a generous ego boost.

It was only half true anyway. Mello was only obsessed with _beating _Near, not with the pale little munchkin himself.

That's what he liked to believe, at least. It made looking at himself in the mirror a whole lot easier.

"Thank you very much, Near," L was saying.

"Don't mention it."

Near slid back into his seat, passing one of the plates he brought in to Mello, who took it with a murmur of "thanks". He couldn't very well continue being rude when L and Near's manners were so immaculate. Sometimes he truly felt like a barbarian when both of them were in the same room. Matt's company was a lot less pressure. His politeness was intact but also horribly detached, much more in sync with Mello's way of doing things.

But the whole _hypocrisy _mess was still flooding him with uneasiness. He _felt _bad; especially now, mustering up enough courage to peek up at Near from across the table, sitting there so vulnerably with one knee curled to his chest and willowy fingers spun into his hair. His dark gaze was focused on L, features set in granite lines as a deep breath swirled into his lungs and released on a long, quiet sigh. It felt like that single breath had blown into Mello's chest, the air filling his stomach with a tightening knot of regret. Most of the time he didn't understand why he was so torn up about Near. One moment he was tormenting him, indifferent the next, and plagued with X-rated dreams about him at night. What he did know was that in the rare moments he stepped back and assessed their relationship, he knew he didn't like what he saw, and he knew it was his fault everything had become so convoluted in the first place. The biggest problem was not knowing how to get things back to good.

Coming back to reality, Mello realized L had already split everything three ways and was shooting him a pointed look as he slid his portion of the pancakes over. Mello stared back a moment, then grabbed a fork and prodded at them. He lifted a corner to peer between the layers at the lining of melted chocolate. His heart jack-hammered somewhere in his throat, choking him up a little with a sudden onset of rattled nerves. It was the perfect opportunity to mend his previous blunder, but an irrepressible fear seized him. The thought of _What if he shuns me for saying it?_

Fortunately, L seemed to posses some sort of psychic wonder and understood his hesitation, taking it upon himself to help Mello along.

"Adding chocolate chips was a good idea," He said, spiraling strawberry syrup on top of his pancakes.

Mello looked at Near in the same moment Near looked at him, gazes meeting and locking for a few insurmountable seconds.

"He's right," Mello said finally. A smile miraculously formed, though how or where he got the courage was something he didn't care to question. "It was a brilliant idea. Good job."

At first, Mello was sure Near hadn't heard him. The younger boy simply stared without so much as at a waver in his expression. Then his hand came up to his hair again, twisting and pulling as the other clutched his fork so tight his fingers turner white-_er_.

"Thank you, Mello." There wasn't a hint of insincerity in his tone.

Mello went back to his pancakes, asking L for the syrup bottle and secretly glowing on the inside.

When he looked back up, Near was smiling into his plate.

----

There was something oddly contagious about geniality. It created a domino effect, one gesture knocking into another and setting off an entire pattern, the result of which a carefully arranged emotional wall could be destroyed.

Mello had found it altogether too easy to smile at Near for the remainder of breakfast, and though he was aware of it, aware of the curious glances Near kept flitting toward him, he hadn't been in too big of a hurry to rebuild his insolence. It felt nice to get along with Near, to engage in discussion that was neither heated nor cold, but somewhere in between. Somewhere neutral. It felt even better to be on the receiving end of L's approving smirks instead of falling prey to his rather scary warning glares, which Mello was typically graced with whenever Near was in the room.

When they had finished and L pulled Mello aside, he had expected some comment or other about how well he had done controlling his temper. What he hadn't expected was L asking him to come around the west side of Wammy's in five minutes, and to come alone. It was a curious request, but it sounded important, and Mello wanted to make a good impression by appearing at the allotted time. He timed himself to arrive the second five minutes was up, and was instantly annoyed to find himself alone among the willows lining the cobblestone path.

Well… alone save for L's motorcycle gleaming off to the right.

His aggravation wavered. Maybe L was going to take him for a ride, like Mello was constantly pestering him to do. He lingered unsurely for a moment, then moved toward the bike. L should have known better; Mello thought anything badass with wheels was too tempting to resist. He paused just as he gripped a handlebar, listening in the distance as the sound of another motorcycle engine revved to life.

Strange.

L was the only one with a bike around here, unless one counted the tricycles and tassel-handled mountain climbers available for use by the younger orphans. But the baseball cards the children clipped to the spokes couldn't purr like _that_.

The sound grew louder, until finally a second motorcycle appeared around the corner of Wammy's, zipping up the path and screeching to a stop just in front of Mello's shoes. The rider tore off the matching yellow helmet. None other than Mr. Lawliet himself, of course.

He smirked and tossed the helmet to Mello, who caught it instinctively. The rest of him seemed to have turned to marble, though. He simply stared at the detective, eyes widened.

"A thought occurred to me some time last week," L said, shaking out his unruly hair. "Your birthday is in nine days. You and I both know that the Kira investigation is the most intricate I've taken on. It will not be solved in nine days, which means I'll be absent for the occasion. Given that," L swung a leg over the seat and moved off, kicking up the stand. "I thought I'd give you your gift early."

Mello was still frozen, eyes trained to the sparkling chrome handles. "The...bike?" He asked, trying hard to digest everything. A fucking _MV Agusta_? It was enough to induce orgasm with nothing but the mental satisfaction of this situation.

"Mmm hmm." L unlatched Mello's hand from his own bike and gave him a gentle shove toward the new one. "I thought we could go for a ride before I leave. There's someplace I'd like to show you."

Mello just stared at him, unblinking.

One of L's eyebrows lifted, a note of amusement in his tone as he asked, "Would you like to go?"

Mello finally blinked, his eyes resuming there normal size. His grin could put the embers of the sun to shame. "Hell, _yes_."

---

L was amazing. The bike was amazing. The ride was amazing. But hell, this place… this place was god damn _breathtaking_.

They had taken the long way around Wammy's, past the myriad establishments and endless sea of trees to the hills beyond. It was a ten minute hike, and they had to leave their bikes at the mouth of the path, but through the brush and shrubbery came a clearing of about twelve acres. Except this clearing wasn't just emptiness, but a meadow, lush with wispy blades of wild grass and a palette of versicolored flowers.

"This is incredible," Mello said, watching the blanket of grass dancing with the breeze. The gentle flow of a stream trickled somewhere just beyond the border of elm trees, the sound completing the beatific peacefulness.

"I thought you would appreciate it." L moved toward the cliffed-edge of the meadow, nudging himself onto a smooth bolder overlooking the town. "I found this when I first came to live at Wammy's. I needed a place I could be on my own to think."

After another long sweep of the hidden utopia, Mello joined him, curling one leg underneath himself and drawing a knee to his chest, much like Near would do. "No one wondered where you were?"

"Watari somehow knew where I was, though I never told him," L said. "He has this way about him. He knows _everything _even before its happened. Quite maddening sometimes."

Mello had to smile. "Just like you."

L snorted, the sound caught somewhere between amusement and mockery. "Is that what you believe?"

"Of course it is," Mello said. "You're _L_. L _Lawliet_."

"You speak of me in a celebrity's light."

"Aren't you?" Mello asked. "The whole world knows you."

L shook his head. "No, the whole world knows _of _me. It's true some would consider that celebrity status, but I don't belong on the pedestal that you and Near put me on. I am not perfect, Mello, and neither will my successor be."

Mello's face contorted, clear bewilderment flickering across his features. L and his successor imperfect? It was blasphemy.

"Being L does not require magical powers of any sort," L continued, leaning back a little further, actually allowing the seat of his jeans to rest against the rock. He moved his legs outward and locked his arms around his shins. "It's all very simple really: Focus, logic, perception, deductive reasoning, attention to detail, and a general understanding of psychology. For instance, how do you assume I came to the conclusion that Near made the eggs and you added the marmalade?"

Mello chewed his lip, then shrugged. "I guess I hadn't really thought about it. I'm used to you always knowing everything."

"It was a simple observation, really. You are not amenable to eggs, and therefore would not prepare them for someone you were trying to impress. That's how I knew it was Near who made them. But he doesn't share our sweet tooth and would find marmalade unnecessary. Even if he were to bring the jar to the table out of courtesy to my preferences, he would not have smothered on nearly that much."

Mello was smirking as he listened. L was certainly an observant one. "It really wasn't that much."

"The eggs were _drowning _in it."

"You're complaining?"

"Not at all," L said quickly, fueling Mello's grin. L hated eggs every bit as much as he did. "It simply made the culprit evident."

"That's clever," Mello said. "Most people wouldn't have noticed."

He pulled two miniature jawbreakers from his pocket, handing one to Mello. He tore into the cellophane wrapping of the other with his teeth. "Mmm. Most people are too busy being an insider to notice those things. You have to be an outsider to properly observe the true nature of a situation."

"Were you always an outsider?" Mello asked, and L nodded.

"Since I can remember."

"And how far back is that?"

"Oh, you know. Ancient times," L said then continued at Mello's eye roll. "My first memory is when I was about three. I was with my mother, playing alongside the creek that ran behind our house. It was dark out, and she was teaching me how to catch fireflies."

Mello blinked at this, surprised to hear a recollection about L's mother. He had never spoken of her until now, and Mello had always assumed he had been orphaned long before his toddler days, just as Mello had been. It had to make him wonder, then, just what had happened to her. It could have been any number of things. An accident, arson, disease.

_Murder_.

"Tell me something about you," Mello said.

L crunched on his candy a little, then pulled it out of his mouth to examine it. "What would you like to know?"

Mello shrugged, vacantly searching glistening buildings below. "I don't know." A measured pause. "How did you become an orphan? Why are you a detective? What's the _real _reason you sit that way? Tell me something you've never told anyone else. _Especially _not Near."

L focused on Wammy's House, grandly visible just above the swell of forestry to the left. His candy clicked against his teeth as he pushed it around his mouth with his tongue, contemplating. "Mmm," he finally murmured. "I can answer all of those in one story."

Mello looked over at him, noting the deadened glaze now present in his eyes. It was startling. No matter how stoic, L always had such _life _blazing behind those cryptic orbs.

He scooted a little closer to the detective, a sudden, uncharacteristic craving for proximity consuming him. "Okay," he said quietly. "Tell me."

L pulled the candy out of his mouth again, clipping it between his thumb and forefinger. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, then finally reached into his pocket, pulling out a wallet-sized photograph. He dangled it in front of Mello in his usual finger-tipped fashion, waiting until he had taken it to start speaking again.

"That is the only photo of my mother that I have. I always carry it with me, and have done so since the day Watari took me into custody."

Mello studied the image, discolored and faded with age; dog-eared from so much wear. The woman looked like a doll, delicate and pleasing to the eye. Her hair was a glossy river of black. It flowed over her shoulder and past the bend of her elbow, framing her oval face and coal-rimmed eyes; identical to L's if not for a feminine slanting at the outer corners. Mello would know this was L's mother anywhere. The resemblance was striking, especially evident by the second figure in the picture--a boy of about five, his timid smile half-hidden beneath the chewing of his thumbnail. The woman was knelt down to his level, her arms around his waist. Her grin outshone everything else in the picture.

"A real beauty in her day, wasn't she?" L asked offhandedly. He was staring down at his toes. Mello hadn't noticed when he'd kicked off his shoes.

"She was," he said. "What… happened to her? Is she…?"

"Dead?" L smiled, but it was rotted with sourness. "Her body rests in Our Mother of Sorrows Catholic cemetery in the state of Maine, USA."

So she _had _been killed. Mello's head spun with grief for the innocent child L had been, staring so obliviously at him from the photograph. Unaware he'd lose his mother too soon. Mello couldn't imagine what that was like. It was bad enough not having parents, but to have them and loose them… it would be like losing L now, like losing your lifeline. The emotional damage had to be tremendous, irreversible.

L sighed and brought his legs in closer, resting his chin on top of his knees. He dropped his jawbreaker, watching it roll across the bolder and fall into the abyss of the city below. Mello's heart tightened. Something about the action was unsettling, like L had dropped the last bit of his happiness into the gray membrane of nothingness. It made him hurt. Not just in his mind, but _everywhere_.

"I don't like to dwell on it much," L admitted. "So I won't go into too much detail but…" He trailed off, sighed again. "I was eight when it happened. Eight-years-old to the day. We were preparing to trick-or-treat that evening. I had gotten into my costume, and she had handed me a single lollipop from the candy bucket as the doorbell rang. Assuming it was Trick-or-Treaters, she walked away to answer." Here he paused, biting his thumb.

"It was a man, dressed in a simple Zorro costume. He shoved her against the wall and locked the door behind him. He had a knife to her throat, and she screamed for me to run. I hid beneath a small table in the sitting room. The man was too focused on her to care about some child; in fact, he didn't even glance my way. But her warning to me angered him. He jabbed the knife into her stomach and ripped her open from navel to chest."

It was like the crime scene of a murder mystery novel. Jarring, too horrible for reality.

"You saw it happen?"

L dipped his head, squeezed his eyelids together. "And I did _nothing._"

For a moment, Mello stared at him, shocked beyond comprehension. The guilt was smothering, rolling off the detective's introverted form in sorrow-drenched waves.

"You were _eight_," Mello said, leaning in closer. "What could you have done?"

L shook his head. "Some sort of distraction. Maybe if I'd been the one to answer the door instead. It has no basis, I know. In reality, there's not a lot I could have done. But in those few moments, crouched under that table, I knew that even if there had been a way, I would have been too afraid to do it." He looked up then, determination strengthening his features. "That's the reason I became a detective. I decided I wasn't going to let the bad guys win."

Mello looked back a Wammy's. "You sound like Kira."

L hmm-ed, seemingly unconvinced. "The difference between Kira and myself is that I'm civil enough to turn criminals over to the judicial system. Kira kills anyone he pleases."

"You have a point," Mello said. "But… did you ever catch the guy who killed your mother? Who was he? Where did he come from?"

L opened his mouth and was cut off by the too cheerful chime of his cell phone. Without another word, he pulled it from his pocket.

"Yes?" He said. "Right. I'm on my way." He snapped the phone closed as he stood. "It seems it's time to announce my investigation into the Kira incidences. Let's go, we haven't much time."

It suddenly felt like the end of existence was near.

---

Mello didn't even have to beg to listen in on L's announcement. The detective simply gathered Near from the common room, where the little weirdo was stacking lego's _again_, and shooed them into a couple chairs set up in his study. All they had been doing for the past twenty minutes was wait while L spoke with Watari about lord knows what. Mello wasn't interested enough to pay attention, instead focusing on Near. The little freak had brought four Lego blocks in with him. Three were white and one was black. He continued to pull them apart and stack them back together, changing the pattern each time. To Mello's irritation, he seemed to have a problem doing it _correctly_. The black piece was constantly on the top.

_Every_. _Single_. _Time_.

After round seven of watching him forget to move the black brick, Mello reached out and snatched the toys away, fed-up and frustrated.

Right on cue, Near's lips pursed in agitation. "Is there a reason you've forgotten how to say 'please'?"

Mello grunted and yanked the black Lego off the top of the stack. "Is there a reason you never put the black on the bottom?"

"Is Mello bothered by such a petty preference?"

"So you _are _deliberately avoiding it," Mello said, wedging the block into the underside of one of the whites. "You're going through every sequence except this one and it's driving me mad."

"I wonder," Near said, reaching over and pulling his toys out of Mello's hand. "Why you pay such keen attention to what I'm doing, and more important, why you seem to care."

"I _don't_ care."

Near wrenched the black piece off the bottom and plugged it back into the top. "Very well. Then please don't touch them again."

"But there must be a _reason _it can't be on the bottom." Mello shifted as he spoke, trying to keep his irritation at bay.

Near gave a nod. "Indeed."

Mello waited, expecting him to say exactly what the freaking reason was; but the boy remained silent, running his index finger around the crown of the dark Lego.

"Well?" Mello finally asked, teeth clenched.

Near didn't so much as bat an eyelash. "Well, what?"

That was it. The internal dam of restraint holding Mello's provocation back didn't just break, it _exploded_, rushing forth and splintering out of every pore like the quills on a porcupine.

"_Well_, why the hell can't the fucking black Lego be on the bottom, you aggravating, white-haired little bastard!"

Across the room, cell phone still pressed to his ear, L froze in the path he'd been pacing from the door to the window. He twisted to look at Mello, shooting him a wide-eyed glare, eyebrows raised in outraged warning. Mello recoiled against his seat and crossed his arms, grumbling to himself. They'd been expected to know better than to cause a racket when L was on a call. Such immature behavior could result in banishment from the room and possible suspension from observing L at work at all; neither of which would benefit them as L's successors.

Near waited until L turned back to his phone call before speaking again, his voice low.

"You needn't be so hostile about it. All you had to do was ask."

"It was implied," Mello snapped.

"You know I prefer candor to implications. I won't reinforce such actions by giving in to them. If you want something from me, you need to learn to come out and ask for it. You may be surprised at how much I'm willing to give."

Mello dropped his arms and looked at him, catching his eye just as he looked away. The younger boy was playing mind games again. He had laced plenty of his own implications in that suggestion, and it wasn't an accident.

Feeling smug enough to bite the bait, Mello said, "I don't think it would be appropriate if I asked for everything I wanted. Pleasure isn't part of the L-successor-package."

"You'll never know until you try," Near said.

Was he actually _flirting_? Mello could hardly believe that, and yet it didn't seem possible for Near The Genius to be so oblivious.

Mello found himself watching the other boy again, this time curiously. No, there was no way he didn't know. He was only _acting _oblivious. The question now wasn't what Mello wanted to ask for, but what _Near _wanted Mello to ask for. That was something that had the potential of keeping Mello up for a long time during the night.

"It represents you." Near broke through his thoughts, though he was still focused on his Lego's.

Mello shook his thoughts clear. "What?"

"The black Lego," Near said. "It represents you. The other three are L, Matt, and myself. The L block is never moved from the bottom, although I suppose you somehow missed that."

He turned the wand of blocks to show the other side, revealing initials inked onto each square.

The kid was in serious need of real friends, was Mello's opinion. That, or at least dolls of some sort, if he was using Lego's to represent people. Although he was seriously creeped out that Near had a toy that represented him at all. Did the freak get some sort of sick pleasure manipulating him in that make-believe world of his?

"L is our support system," Near explained, seemingly unaware how eerie he was coming off. "He's the foundation to our success; he holds us up and together. If it weren't for him, the rest of us would crumble." He ran his finger up the faceless totem pole, stopping between the white blocks marked _MJ _and _NR_. "Matt and I are at the center, learning and growing. And then there's you." He fingered the top again, gentle and slow, etching a seductive pattern. Mello shivered. "You lead us, and we follow. You're the other end of the spectrum, helping L shape us into what we need to be. There is no place for you on the bottom, Mello. You'd shake us until we all fell over."

Mello opened his mouth, but on finding himself too bewildered to shoot off a usual remark, closed it again.

"You didn't think I see you as a leader?" Near asked, turning to face him. He seemed honestly puzzled, which confused Mello further.

"No, I…well, no_. _I thought you saw me for what I am--Competition."

Near didn't blink often, Mello realized; which only made the blonde do it more, as if unconsciously making up for the lack on Near's part. He was like a cat, really. A cat patiently, excitedly watching his pray before pouncing. No doubt his tail would be flicking if he had one.

The most disturbing part about that was how the thought of Near actually tackling him made Mello squirm and squeeze his thighs a little tighter together.

Near cocked his head slightly, a gesture that accentuated his likeness to L, then reached forward. Mello instinctively drew back, though the movement didn't deter Near. He simply leaned closer, fingertips dusting Mello's cheek as he plucked a golden strand of hair away from his face. He lingered a moment, hand poised in Mello's hair, just above his ear.

"There is no competition in Wammy's House," he said. "That would be disrespectful to L. We're here to learn from and help one another."

Mello didn't speak until Near moved his hand away, too stunned by the contact to get anything past his now constricted esophagus. There was a terse moment between them in which neither moved. Mello was sure he didn't even breath; the air in his lungs had become far too frigid. He felt his pulse escalate to a flutter, until it was nothing more than a hum that radiated through his body and pooled a liquid warmth in his lower stomach.

"Now then." L's voice suddenly rang out, making Mello jolt back to attention. The detective was standing in front of them, seemingly oblivious to how sharply his words had cut through the strange atmosphere. Although Mello wasn't quite so dim as to believe he hadn't noticed. He was simply immaculate at hiding it.

"Watari is setting up the connection now. As soon as he presents me, I will be making my official announcement. It's unrehearsed, as I feel reading off a paper or trying to speak from memorization may just throw me off," he said. "The most important thing to remember when establishing a relationship with authorities is to never answer questions as if you're bowing to them, primed to serve. They need to understand from the beginning that L works independently and may require their assistance, not the reverse."

"How do you-"

"The trick is to continue on, answering questions as if it's simply a part of your speech and not as if it's a Q and A session. Exactly as I've just done with you, Mello. Thank you very much for assisting me in giving a prime example."

Mello blinked, then smiled. Clever. Always so clever.

The computer screen behind L flickered. After a rather loud, yet thankfully brief beeping noise, a dimly lit auditorium filled with police personnel appeared. L glanced between the two boys and touched his finger quickly to his lips, issuing silence, then turned back toward the computer.

"Gentlemen," Watari said, his voice muffled over the secure connection. "L would now like to address the delegacies."

L curled into his chair, silently cleared his throat and began to speak in slow, clear Japanese.

"Greetings to all of you at the ICPO. I am L."

Mello wasn't yet fluent in the language. He knew enough to follow a conversation, though, and was impressed with the maturity and assertiveness of L's speech. The ICPO didn't have a prayer of stringing him along, and it was obvious by the hush that fell over the crowd that L was already regarded with high respect. By the closing, a curt and polite "I look forward to working with you all", it was obvious the entire case had been turned over to L.

The gravity of the situation didn't fully hit Mello until the sound of L clicking his laptop closed filled the otherwise silent room.

Kira was officially in L's hands.

---

If he were worried before, he was downright sick with panic now. Twice, in fact, into the cold porcelain of a toilet.

L didn't know. Mello made sure to hide it, not wanting his own ominous feeling to rub off on the detective and start him off on shaky grounds. L feigned indifference a lot of the time, but Mello was aware that he worried about them as an older brother might, and he didn't want to cause him concern now.

Not when he was about to become an invisible serial killers prime target.

The thought made his stomach lurch again, but he swallowed the sick feeling and took a shaky breath. Probably L already knew how disturbed Mello was about the whole situation, but that didn't mean he had to know _how _disturbed. Mello was trying to save face, trying not to let the tremors he felt lurking in the bone-deep shadows of his body present themselves. Though the moment he stepped out of the bathroom and began the trek down the ruby carpeted corridor, he realized how absurdly unsteady his legs had become.

He wobbled more than walked into the small room just off the main foyer and plunked into a recliner. The plush cushions were little consolation, though they did make him realize how much his worry had drained him.

"Hey, Mels," Matt said absently.

He was sitting on the floor with Near, a game of _Ker-plunk _between them. Not the most stimulating of games, but the way Mello saw it, he doubted either of them could focus on much else besides L's impending departure anyway.

Matt stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth, biting down on it as he meticulously pulled a stick from the game. After it was freed, all marbles in tact, he brandished it at Near while simultaneously asking Mello, "Care to join us?"

Mello frowned. "No."

_Hell no_, was more like it. He most certainly didn't want to play a fifth graders marble game with Peter Pan's fanboy and the little white rice puff. Not when he felt too uneasy to properly gloat after he'd beaten them.

"You act as if he's never gone away before," said Near.

It was odd, Mello noted, how half the time the younger boy was too preoccupied to even look up, and yet it was always clear who he was addressing. There could be two dozen people in the room and still no one would be able to confuse it.

Mello raised his hips off the couch to better access his front pocket, glaring at the small curve of Near's back as he fished around for Hershey's Kisses. His sudden need for chocolate was all-consuming. Fuck it if it made him look like an ovulating woman.

"I'm not acting like anything."

Near hmm-ed, seemingly unconvinced, and Matt bit down a smirk.

"I'm not!"

"That's why you were just sick." Said Near. "_Twice_."

The bastard didn't even need to incorporate a sarcastic tone; It was implied. Something _else _Mello loathed. "Why don't you just mind your own damn business, you stupid little twit?"

"Christ, Mello. Calm down before you give yourself a bloody aneurysm," Matt said.

Mello opened his mouth to snap another reply, but cut himself short as one of the servicemen bustled out the door, holding two sleek black suitcases.

L shuffled along behind him, sucking remnants of icing off his fingers. He paused in the entryway, watching out the door a moment before turning toward his successors.

All three boys stared up at him, waiting as he carefully studied each face before moving to the next. His gaze lingered on Near the longest, Mello noticed, and a trace of concern softened his expression.

"Well." A faint smile crossed his face. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you to behave yourselves."

"You might want to run in by Mello a few more times," said Matt, and then dodged the flying chocolate kiss that almost clipped him in the eye.

L's smile actually solified for a moment, humor getting the better of him, as it often did when watching his heirs interact. He managed to swallow it down, however, when he noticed the sour look on Mello's face.

"Mello," he said at length. "Would you please keep an eye on the children for me?"

Mello's cold glare evaporated into a smirk, which he directed at the other two boys. No words necessary. L had just said it all, and victory tasted even sweeter when handed over by the candy man himself.

Playful banter, of course; Matt snorted, but grinned as he stood and crossed the room, toward the detective. Mello and Near rose together, instinctively trailing behind Matt.

"Kick some major arse out there," Said Matt, giving L a playful nudge.

"I won't let you down." L patted his shoulder.

It had to be said that Matt wasn't particularly close to L. He was nearly twelve when he'd come to Wammy's, having lost his family in an unfortunate convenience store robbery, and hadn't melded to L the way a toddler or smaller child would. He'd had his family, was loved by them and loved them in return, and L was little more than a respectable and kind soul he was fortunate enough to know.

For Mello, things were different. And he assumed they were for Near as well, though it was always hard to tell if the kid was even capable of bonding with anything. Mello had been younger than Near, little more than a year old, when L had taken him in.

He couldn't remember that far back, and so for Mello, L had always been the parental figure in his life. L had taught him how to talk (In five different languages), how to eat solid food (various desserts), How to ride a bicycle (moped with training wheels), and, though it was embarrassing to actually think about, potty trained him.

Mello inwardly smiled at the concept that L had doubled as both mother and father. The mother role came in with the bubbles L had poured into his baths, and the little golden books he had read him before bed, and all the times he had sat up all night in Mello's room, watching over him because he was ill.

Those memories were a million miles gone. L had been barely a teenager then, with much more time to spend on the simple things. Much more time for Mello.

"Mello?" With a jolt, reality caved in on him, crushing the dusty trail of thoughts. They were all staring at him, he realized; Matt amused, Near indifferent, and L with a trace of concern. The latter touched his shoulder, fingers warm through the thin cotton of his shirt.

"Are you okay?"

The soft inquiry made Mello's chest contract.

He didn't answer, couldn't answer. His throat felt suddenly too tight, and he was far too stubborn to succumb to the torrent of emotions raging inside. Instead he took a step forward, legs unstable, and fell into L, no pretense or forethought involved. Just that god-awful fear, gripping his heart and yanking it painfully down into his stomach. He could only be thankful he didn't cry easily. His eyes were dry, but he still pressed his face into the crook of L's neck and breathed in deep. The scent of Tide and Ivory soap coasted over his senses, mixing soothingly around his nerves.

L's arms went around him hesitantly, his hold a bit awkward because, hell, Mello had had too much pride to hug him since he was eight. Neither of them were particularly touchy people, feeling uncomfortable and over stimulated when their personal space was violated. But at that moment, when Mello's world felt seconds from slipping off its axis, physical contact felt necessary. L was amazingly strong beneath the wrinkled cloth and denim. It felt like home in his arms, like nothing bad could touch him.

"Everything will work out." His breath softly ruffled Mello's hair. "It'll be alright."

Mello seized up as another arm, this one much smaller, snaked around the small of his back. L's arm moved away, and Mello felt him bring another body in closer.

_Near_, he thought, sharply aware of the other boy's presence even without looking up. It _felt _like Near, small and warm and... irritatingly gentle.

Mello shifted away a bit, but kept himself anchored around L. "Take us with you," he said.

He was willing to tote the brat along if it meant he could go; that was fine. He would happily baby-sit for L in Japan.

Outside, a horn sounded, trumpeting twice. L moved away, and with a shadow of reluctance, Mello let him go.

"You can walk out to the car with me," he said, in a way that clearly meant, "the answer is no, but here's what you can do instead. Isn't that great?"

Mello didn't think it was great. Mello thought the whole thing sucked whale balls, actually, but he followed behind L in silence, for once keeping his protests to himself.

---

Outside, the air was frigid, to say the least. The sharp gust of cold cut off his breath for a moment. But he refused to let his discomfort show, like Near, who immediately hugged himself against the chill.

L didn't seem bothered, wind biting at his clothes and whipping through already tousled hair. The detective simply slipped his hands into his pockets and trekked down the walkway as if it were a mild Spring afternoon.

Mello glanced at Near, whose teeth were already clenched and chattering, and (pushing away any sorry feelings he had about that) balled his hands at his sides and chased after L.

He nearly slammed into him when L stopped at the car to pull the door open. There was a fleeting moment when Mello thought to dart inside and demand to go with. His heart kicked up at the prospect, but L climbed in and slammed the door before his brain could tell his cemented feet to move.

Near moved up next to him and leaned into his side. Trying to fight of the cold, Mello suspected. He could feel the frostiness seeping through his clothes.

L rolled down the window.

"A taxi?" Mello asked right away, scoffing.

L glanced around, as if confirming he was indeed inside a taxi. "Not the most inconspicuous form of transportation, I confess. But in the absence of Watari, a taxi is the most-" He stopped when Near sneezed. His eyes sharpened on the younger boy, flashing with realization. "Where are your jackets?"

"We haven't gotten any this year." Mello said.

L looked at Near, who shook his head. "Why not?"

"It's been unseasonably warm," Near answered. He was tucking himself closer against Mello, who stiffened and squirmed away, wordlessly telling him to back off. Near ignored it.

"Get jackets," L said, shoving a fistful of cash at Mello. The wad was as thick as a deck of cards, and the outside bill was a fifty.

Mello stared down at it, then took it slowly. They'd never been allowed to wander off to the shops and buy their own things before. "But L, I-"

"_Get_. _Jackets_."

It was clearly not a request. Mello could do nothing but nod and slip the money into his pocket.

"I was really hoping the two of you were old enough now for me to stop giving this departing lecture, but it seems that was only wishful thinking." L pursed his lips in distaste, glancing between them sternly. He looked upwards and sighed. "During my absence, there is to be no arguing, fighting, biting, hitting, punching, poking, slapping, shoving, pinching, kicking, yelling, screaming, name-calling, defying Roger, sabotaging each others grades, or otherwise destroying each other's reputations--Mello, that means you."

Mello was scowling back at him. "What, do I look like I'm five?"

"No, you just act like it," L said, almost pleasantly. "Now remember what I said. I'll miss you both, and I'll be in touch when I can."

He rolled up the window. Then, as an afterthought, shouted through the glass. "And for God's sake, _stick together_."

The exasperation was crisp in his tone, but Mello's agitation died instantly as the car began to roll away.

A quaver much like the wave of seasickness rocked through him. Beside him, Near shuddered and reached for his hand. Mello clung to it, allowing the comfort just this once.

They stood on the ledge of the driveway, watching until the taxi became nothing more than a yellow dot and finally disappeared completely, both of them shivering together in the setting daylight.

---

TO BE CONTINUED.

* * *

_-BC3_


	4. Glass Dominos

**Chapter 4- Glass Dominos**

"If you're going to do it, Mello, then please do it now."

Mello looked up from his Sudoku game and blinked at the back of Near's head. From his position in the music room, he could perfectly see the small, white figure in the corner closest to him. The little bastard was hunched between two ever-growing glass domino towers, polishing the last piece against the sleeve of his pajamas.

Mello hadn't been paying any attention to him in the first place. Matt was practicing the Irish flute (odd, but then Mello was a self-taught pianist, so who the hell was he to judge?) and he could have just as well been hanging out there for his friend's sake, for all Near was aware. So what gave him the right to…?

"What the hell are you saying?" Mello asked.

"I'm saying the towers are now complete for your destruction," Near said.

…Of all the _nerve_.

Mello's fingers curled into the eight-by-four paper book. He tossed it onto the leather couch cushion beside him.

"I haven't destroyed one of your stupid domino towers probably in two years. What would make you think I'd care about something so trivial right now, anyway?" He gave Near approximately 1.3 seconds before demanding, "Well? I'm waiting."

"Jesus, Mello, calm down," Matt said. "He doesn't mean anything by it."

Mello pointed at him. "You, stay out of it."

Matt shrugged and recommenced his version of _"When Irish Eyes are Smiling."_

"I didn't mean any offense," Near said, and Mello didn't know if it was meant sincerely or sarcastically or what. How the hell was he supposed to? Near never used any goddamned infliction in his words.

"I would only be offended if I cared," Mello snapped. "And I don't."

Lie. But so what? He would never admit that anything the big-headed monster did had any affect on him.

"Very well. Perhaps a different subject would suffice." Near paused and twirled a strand of hair between his fingers. "Where does Mello come from?"

Matt's perfectly tuned song was broken by a sharp, uneven peel before the flute-notes cut off. "Um, Near?" he said. "Bad subject. Very bad subject."

Near looked over his shoulder, toward Mello. "It's all there in your file, black and white and composed in L's own words."

Mello tried to relax his stone-stricken posture, but even Near saw through it.

"What, you don't know?" He gave a small, dry chuckle—more mocking than humored, from what Mello could tell. "The files are hidden and quite difficult to break into, but not impossible, especially with Matt's superior knowledge of petty annoyances, such as vault combinations. Don't tell me you couldn't figure out a way into the-"

"That is not the reason," Mello shouted.

In the same breath, he was suddenly standing, although he hadn't been conscious of the movement, and Matt had materialized in front of him, flute-less. He was pressing back on Mello's shoulders, keeping him in place.

"He doesn't know what he's saying," Matt said evenly. "And besides, who do you think will gain L's title if you kill Near?"

Mello's eyes flickered toward Matt.

Matt nodded. "That's right. Me. And what a bloody mess that would be. You know I don't care enough about it to ever live up to the expectations."

Mello took a step back, looking at the white marble floor. "I wasn't going to hurt him."

"I'm afraid I don't understand." Near said, with… was that a hint of regret?

Mello looked up at him and was glad that Matt was in front of him. Near was now standing, and it was always kind of creepy when he did. Not that he wasn't used to Near walking in front of or behind him, but there was something entirely different when Near was standing and facing him.

Those eyes. They were like the sightless glass buttons sewn onto the face of a handmade rag doll.

Mello shuddered inwardly.

"I had no idea the topic was such a sore spot for you," Near said. "Most of L's have pasts that are now detached but very much a part of them. I apologize for assuming you were just like the rest. I should have known better."

The only thing that kept Mello from turning Near's face inside out with his fist was that he sounded sincere. He still didn't soften his scowl, however.

"My life is here at Wammy's." Mello sounded much more confident than he actually felt. "I don't need to know how I got here. It's enough that I am."

Near hesitated. "You don't want to know where and who you came from? You're not afraid, are you?"

"I'll give you afraid," Mello hissed, and lunged forward. It wasn't his intention to hurt Near; honestly, he wasn't sure what he'd do if he were ever able to get his hands on the brat. But he had a sinking suspicion, though it might be far more revealing of his desires than he really cared to show. Relieving his frustrations in a purely carnal way was not such a far-fetched idea.

So it was good that something always got in his way. It saved him the embarrassment of scrambling for a legible excuse as to why the hell he accidentally shoved Near against the wall and kissed him stupid. He was pretty sure that would be the outcome anyway, or something else equally as mortifying.

Matt, the golden savior, restraining Mello yet again. He looked more amused than anything though, devious, like if Near weren't in the room, he would kiss _Mello _stupid just to shake him from his fury.

"What in the name of Good Glorious God is going on in here?"

A Roger-shaped silhouette filled the exit, harsh light blazing around him. It was an unforgiving contrast to the soft lightening of the music room. Mello blinked against it and shaded his eyes with his arm.

"Nothing," Matt said. "We were just… practicing the Waltz."

"The Waltz?" Near and Mello asked at once.

Matt slid an arm around Mello's waist and pulled his arm straight out with the other, like he were about to shoot an arrow from a bow.

"Judging from the mortified expression on Mello's face," Roger said calmly, as Matt began to walk Mello about the room. "And not to mention that what you are doing right now is a poor imitation of the _Tango_, Mr. Jeevas, I am not buying your story."

Matt dropped his hold, but didn't even bother to look ashamed of himself. "Oh. But it was a good try, you have to admit. And might I add, you look quite smashing in that blazer, Mr. Wammy."

Roger cleared his throat. "In any event, I see no bloodshed as of yet, so for the time being I'm going to let this slide. I've come to collect you for your appointment."

Matt deflated. "I don't need to go to any more appointments. I think I know when I'm-"

"You are not your counselor," Roger said. "Only she can decide when you're fine enough on your own. Now, please let's not have this argument again. Dr. Lorell is waiting."

Matt yanked his goggles over his eyes-something Mello had noted he did whenever he didn't like something and wanted to feel invisible-and stopped just as he was about to stomp passed Roger. He stared flatly at the older man.

"You, sir, are a controlling old goat." And then he disappeared down the corridor.

Roger let him go with a simple huff, and redirected his attention back to Mello.

"Mello, would you like me to escort you to the nurse's office? You're looking rather pale."

Kendra, Wammy's live-in nurse, was a young brunette from London. Kind, maybe, but she always blushed and dropped everything whenever L came within her peripheral vision. Recently she had taken to doing the same around Mello, and really, he couldn't deal with that right now.

He collapsed onto the sofa and ran the flat of his hand along his forehead. "No, I'm… I'm fine."

Roger hesitated and then said, "Very well. I'll see the two of you at the dinner table in one hour." He clicked his nail against his gold pocket watch and closed himself out of the room.

Mello took a deep breath in the silence, kneading his temples and trying to forget completely about Near, who was still hovering with unfailing confidence a few paces in front of the glinting domino structures.

Near had been right about Mello being afraid. In fact, Mello was extremely opposed to looking at his history files, though L had offered him a copy a multitude of times. He didn't know exactly what made him so uneasy whenever the topic arose. He only knew that it made him feel faint, disjointed.

He didn't like to think about it.

Thinking only conjured up images of nightmares that had haunted him up until a few years ago, when dreams of Near took over. L had told him he'd had these nightmares almost every night since he had been taken into Wammy custody, at nine months and eleven days old. L spent several hours a night tending to a fussy, restless, frightened Mello; calming him with sweetened milk and slices of warm pie.

That was the past Mello wanted to know about. Growing up at Wammy's, being cared for by L and sometimes Watari. That was his life. That was where he came from. He didn't need anything else defining him, telling him who he was and what he should be.

…He also didn't need Near invading his goddamn personal space.

He had knelt on the edge of the sofa, knees pointed toward and barely touching Mello's thigh. He leaned close into his face, head titled quizzically.

Mello shoved at him and sent him reeling onto his back.

"Why are you all up in my face?" He snapped. "Jesus, what's the matter with you?"

Near pulled himself up with all the speed of a turtle doped up on tranquilizers. "Nothing is the matter with me. I'm simply fascinated."

"_Fascinated_?"

Near tilted his head a notch further, eyes narrowing with cold calculation. "Your emotions are so vivid I can see them brewing in your eyes, but I still can't make sense of them. Why should my asking about your past cause such a strong reaction when you don't know anything about it?"

"What's it to _you_?" Mello snapped. He pushed Near back.

"Would Mello feel better if I told him how I came into L's custody?"

Mello unfortunately couldn't stop the interest from passing over his face like a shadow. He _had _always wondered where the little weirdo came from-L never told him _that _part.

Near smirked and pulled a knee up to his chest. He had obviously read Mello's silence as a cue to go on, which, okay, maybe it was, but the little freak had better not assume he would be owed anything. As far as Mello was concerned, any information he shared was strictly volunteer. Information in exchange for information? Tch. He didn't think so.

"I was born in the United States to a very young and very naïve couple," Near said. "She was a seventeen-year-old runaway and he was the juvenile delinquent who helped her escape her wealthy but strict family. I was born three months later. They were living illegally in a condemned farm house in northern Pennsylvania."

"And were they albino's too?" Mello said coldly.

"My mother was, yes," he answered seriously. Mello blinked and said nothing. "They managed to hide out there for five years. That's when Amelia was born. My sister."

Near had a baby sister? It was hard to imagine. He seemed even less interested in the younger orphans than he was the elder, if that were at all possible.

"All I remember about Amelia is that she cried a lot." He threaded a strand of hair around his index finger, his gaze filmy and faraway. "And also that I'm the one who fed her milk from her bottles because our parents were too intoxicated to do it themselves."

Mello thought he saw something like annoyance crinkle around his nose, but it was gone almost before it was visible.

"One day, our father woke up sometime past noon from Amelia's cries. She was four months old at the time and her voice had gotten progressively louder since her birth. After a few attempts at screaming her into silence, and evidently none too patient to make it stop, he threw her into a plastic trash bag and buried her alive."

How he could relay that with such monotone was beyond Mello's comprehension. He would have been boiling with murderous intent, ravenous for justice.

… But Near only twirled his hair, eyes deep and far away.

"Didn't you do anything to try to stop him?" Mello asked, much too passionately. His pulse was throbbing in his neck. "I mean, that was your sister, for God's sake! Did you unbury her?"

Near's onyx eyes slid back to Mello. "Of course I tried. But I was five years old and critically malnourished. He stood guard with the iron shovel he had used to dig her grave. So I did the only thing I could."

"Pulled out a shotgun and blew off his balls?"

Near smirked. "That would have been a more satisfactory ending, but no. The only thing I could do was run. I was afraid, yes, but I wasn't running away- I was running for help."

It was impossible, Mello realized, for help to have come quickly enough to save Amelia. Chances were she had already suffocated in that bag before all the dirt had been packed into place. The frustrations of the human body must have been tenfold in a situation such as that, and Mello could only imagine what it must have been like, especially for someone as naturally slow-moving as Near. Did he ever berate himself for not being faster? Mello wanted to ask, but that would work against him. He didn't want to appear too interested in Near. Nothing good could come from that.

"I was quicker back then," Near said, and Mello had the uncomfortable feeling that Near was tapping into his thoughts. He tried to clear his mind. "I had to be if I wanted to avoid being smacked around. I could outrun both my parents easily."

Mello gaped a moment. "Then why are you such a snail now?"

Near smiled, but it looked like a frown. "After Amelia, I realized that speed was basically inconsequential. At least, it was when it really mattered. I couldn't save her. After that, there was nothing left to hasten myself about. I will still get a high-quality, tasteful, and nutritionally rich meal whether I am the first or the last to join everyone in the dining hall. I simply wont have to blow on my food if I'm the last because it will have already cooled to a satisfactory temperature. If I am the last in the showers, I don't have to hurry to make room for those waiting. If I am last to finish a test, my grade will not suffer; although, I have a significantly lesser chance of making a mistake because I didn't breeze through it like a tornado."

Mello felt himself change three different shades of red. He had always prided himself on being the first to complete exams in every class. Somehow, Near had been able to grind that thrill into powder and make him feel like a complete dunce for doing it.

He grabbed his Sudoku book and stood without a word.

"Dear Mello?" Near called, effectively halting him, which he _hated_.

"What, Near? _What_?"

"You shouldn't feel bad for me. It was a long time ago, and with L's help, I have stopped blaming myself. It's unfortunate, but I can't erase what has been done, and neither can you by feeling bad about it."

As usually when Near was speaking to him, Mello felt his brain scramble a moment before righting itself again. "Who said I feel bad for you?"

"You're more sentimental than you let on."

Mello fixed his scowl back into place. "And you're much less clever than you let on. You don't know _anything _about me."

"No," said Near, as Mello started for the door again. "But I would like to."

Mello paused with his hand on the door, then _tch_'ed loudly and exited before Near had the chance to weasel anything out of him because it was true. He _did _feel bad.

* * *

For a while, Mello was able to avoid Near easily enough. All he had to do was exit a room whenever Near entered, or keep walking if he came upon a room where Near was already present. This plan went along smoothly because, huge shocker, Near didn't seem to care. Near didn't outwardly acknowledge this situation at all and part of Mello wondered which one of them was actually doing the ignoring.

Unfortunately, Watari was making it rather difficult to continue this charade forever, which was exactly what Mello felt like doing. He would phone every afternoon, sometime between 9AM and 11AM, and although Mello liked and even respected Watari very much, he was more than a little annoyed that he was calling on L's behalf instead of L calling himself.

"Top of the morning to you, young Mello," Watari said today. Tuesday. The fifth consecutive day pretending Near didn't exist.

"Let me talk to L," Mello demanded. He already knew what Watari would say, though, and mouthed the words along with him, making a face.

"So sorry. L is busy at the moment."

"Yeah, eating strawberry rhubarb, no doubt," Mello snapped.

Watari's voice held a smile. "It's black forest cake at the moment."

Mello huffed and sunk onto the wooden veranda swing. It was dreary outside, drizzling and gray, but Mello was fed up with staying indoors. The other kids had been cramped inside for days now, as if the rain was made of acid, but Mello didn't care. A little water never hurt anyone.

"I've been told to inquire as to whether you and Near have gotten jackets."

"_No, _we have not gotten _jackets_."

"I've been told to ask why not in the event that your answer was no."

"Because if I go anywhere near that little white rat all you old people like to call _Nate_, I'll murder him."

The sound of shuffling papers drifted over the phone line. Watari cleared his throat. "I have a note here, from L. May I read it to you?"

"If he has something to say, he can tell me himself."

"If you don't acquire jackets by tomorrow morning at 11 AM sharp," Watari read anyway. "Kitchen privileges will be revoked and you are to eat whatever snacks are available to the rest of the orphans."

"But that's not fair!" Mello raved, darting off the swing. "I already have to eat my vegetables!"

Watari's voice held a smile. "It does my heart good to know L's successors have been spoiled every bit as rotten as he himself is. I always told him he would get his stubbornness back times three."

Mello rubbed his forehead, feeling the beginnings of a migraine tingling steadily behind his eyes. "Fine," he said. It was apparent none of his arguments would persuade Watari to put L on the line, so why waste the energy? He could save it for torturing The Decoys later. "I'll get us some jackets."

"I'm sure L will be quite pleased." Watari cupped the mouthpiece, from what Mello could tell of his sudden muffled voice. When he came back on, he sounded even more jolly than before. "I have one last message for you: Thank you very much, sweet pea."

Mello growled and clicked off the phone. L absolutely loved teasing him. No doubt it was where Near had learned it.

_Damnit_.

Now he'd have to spend his whole day with the freak. Like hell was he going to pick out a jacket for Near just to find out he had to take it back because it didn't fit properly.

With renewed vigor, he pocketed his cell phone and set off. The sooner this stupid errand was over with, the better. Then he could go back to a Near-free existence and everyone could be at least marginally less irritated.

Unfortunately, Mello only found his irritation mounting as he scoured what felt like the entire institution for the little blow-worm. He knew Near was always easier to find when L was home, since Near trailed L like a kite tail and L was usually either in the kitchen or his study, but he didn't expect him to be _this _difficult to seek out.

He had tried the obviously places first: His room, L's study, the kitchen, various favored play-spots, and any and all rooms he passed on his way to each of these destinations. It took far longer than Mello would have liked, and his patience had all but ran out at the beginning of his search, but finally he found Near in the library.

He was perched like some kind of mangled bird, curled over a knee, hair a wild splash of white from all his twisting and pulling at it. He was seated at a small mahogany table in the corner, hunched over a book so thick it was a wonder the little twit was able to lift it from the shelf.

Matt was there with him, huddled over the same book. The criminal. Probably it was him who got the book for Near, fetched it like his bitch.

Mello stalked toward them, unimpressed that by some miracle Matt had actually gotten Near to _smile. _In fact, it simply made him want to jam his steel-toed boot into Matt's spleen hard enough to knock out some teeth. His shadow fell across their bowed heads, which were titled too close together in his opinion, and crossed his arms. Neither of them looked up, which made it so much worse.

"Mello," Near said, coolly.

Mello ignored him, directing the heat of his glare at the goggles covering the part in Matt's hair.

"We found L in this book," Matt told him, oblivious to Mello's swelling exasperation. "Come have a look. It's downright hilarious."

Mello stalled, weighing his uncanny jealousy and sudden curiosity for a moment and finally dropped his arms. By all means, Matt was a traitor who couldn't seem to leave alone what wasn't his, so Mello decided, a bit hesitantly, to move around the right side and lean over Near's shoulder.

The big-brained, know-it-all's scent lingered around him like the smell of rain after a light shower, clean and earthy. Mello breathed deeply and focused on the picture on the open page.

The photograph was discolored in a splash of sepia that made it look far older than it actually was. A group of roughly forty-five children stood clustered together on the institution's front steps, mostly smiling with the exception of a few superior glares from a couple of the older kids. Watari and Roger stood to the far left with a red-haired woman Mello recognized as Roger's late wife.

It had a simple caption underneath: "_Wammy's House, opening day_." No names. No date.

It made sense, really. No one besides those who already knew L's identity would be able to figure out that one of these children was him, let alone _which one. _But for Mello, who knew L's face better than his own, spotted him right away. He was in the first row furthest to the left, clutching Watari's hand. He appeared slightly older than he did in the snapshot with his mother, and much less… _alive. _He wore the same blank expression that was so common on him in the present, same unkempt hair, same wrinkled, simple clothes. It was almost funny, but somehow looked too misplaced on his small, pale form.

Mello blinked and swallowed hard. L had been brought to live at Wammy's just after his mother had been murdered. If this photograph was taken on the opening day and L was already there, it meant his mother had been alive only days before. Leaning closer toward the book, Mello squinted at L's eyes, but the image was too fuzzy to tell if any tears were still evident. He'd never seen L cry or even come close to it, but he was sure he must have at some point in his life. If not at this point, then when?

The whole thing made him feel uneasy.

"There's nothing funny about this picture," he suddenly announced, reaching over Near's shoulder and snapping the thick cover shut.

"Hey!" Matt made a grab for the book, but Mello swatted his hand away. "What's your problem? Of course it's funny! It's L! Mini!"

"It _is _rather amusing," Near said, his monotone sounding ironic combined with the statement. "I've never seen a child with such a serious expression before."

"You must have never looked in the mirror," Mello spit. "Now get up. We're going into town for some jackets."

"Wicked!" Matt said, beginning to stand. "I'm going to get a new-"

Mello knocked his knee into the back of Matt's, making him fall into the chair again. "No. You pissed me off, so you get to stay here and make sure none of The Decoy's follow us out."

"But-"

"Only Near!" Mello said. He grabbed the scruff of Near's shirt and yanked him to his feet. "I seriously can't deal with more than one of you moron's at a time!"

Matt grumbled something beneath his breath that sounded the exact opposite of flattery, but Mello was feeling surprisingly generous enough to let it slide.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


End file.
